Never Alone, Never Again
by Bored Beyond Belief
Summary: Harry's holiday reaches it's lowest point. Will Harry finally be able to have the kind of love everyone else seems to take for granted? Complete
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the wonderful world of J.K. Rowling…Not mine. It's hers. Mine is a bit more surreal, with far more to do with Muggles than I would otherwise choose.  
  
Nicky: You are so right! I'm reposting this first chapter because I am absolutely busted. So much for dramatic effect. g Oh, and TLC means Tender Loving Care. 8-)  
  
  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Harry sat next to the boarded up window and stared at the moon... "Waning Gibbous moon," Harry thought as he remembered Professor Lupin and looked into the night sky. He missed his friends dearly. He wished he were with his godfather right now. Harry worried about him all the time. He smiled wearily as he realized how protective he was of his godfather. He'd gone through so much for so many years. Harry closed his eyes as he thought of Sirius. He liked to picture him in Professor Lupin's living room, sitting before a fire as they joked with each other. They had a lot of years to catch up on. He imagined them running together joyfully as dog and wolf respectively through a forest under the full moon; the Marauders back in action again. Free.  
  
Harry opened his eyes abruptly, startled by a sound next to him. Hedwig sat on the windowsill, reaching her snowy head between the bars and tapping persistently on the glass to get the attention of the boy inside. Harry sighed, wincing as his ribs protested the sudden movement. This was the third time in as many weeks she'd appeared with a message, but considering the Dursleys now had Harry effectively imprisoned in his room, there was nothing he could do about it.  
  
"I'm sorry, Hedwig. They've got the windows boarded over. I can't open up," Harry whispered loudly. Hedwig hooted and cocked her head as if trying to see Harry through the little cracks between the boards. Harry smiled softly at that. Even though he couldn't have Hedwig with him, he was grateful for her company. She'd spent the night before and would most likely do so again tonight, leaving with the unread message in the morning light. Harry hoped he could make it through the summer in this room. It was comforting to listen to Hedwig, to know she cared. The Dursleys hadn't forced him to go back to the cupboard… yet. He'd begun to suspect that before school started though, he still might end up there. Then he wouldn't see Hedwig at all.  
  
Harry returned his gaze to the hazy white sky. It was slightly overcast, softening the edges of the moon. He absentmindedly pressed his hand against his forehead, using the pressure of his palm to try to ease the ever increasing pain that radiated from the lightening scar. His legacy. Harry closed his eyes, dizzy for a moment. He'd not slept more than a couple of hours at a time each night for weeks now. Lack of sleep and lack of food now made Harry feel as weak as a kitten. He could barely stand anymore without trembling. The dreams came nearly every night now.  
  
Harry drew in a shuddering breath, ignoring the sweat that began to coat his face and back at the sudden movements. He didn't want to think about the dreams. He'd see it soon enough. Voldemort was on the rampage. Harry didn't need The Daily Prophet to tell him that. He witnessed it. Muggles and wizards; whole families were dying. And Harry watched. He couldn't dredge up the energy to cry anymore, but he knew each time he saw someone tortured and killed, he was dying inside. After all, it was his blood that enabled Voldemort to become this strong.  
  
Harry closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the wall behind him. He listened as Hedwig continued to hoot and coo, and would have sworn she was trying to reassure him somehow. He smiled softly at that. Her companionship made him feel less lonely.  
  
Things hadn't gone well since his fourth year at Hogwarts. The Dursleys knew how to carry a grudge, Harry admitted wryly. But there was something more… Something sinister. There was never a question in Harry's mind whether the Dursleys loved him. Of course they didn't, and they took every opportunity available to remind him of it as he'd grown up. But somehow… Vernon had crossed a line somewhere, and Harry couldn't determine when or how it happened, but it had.  
  
Perhaps Dudley's diet had been the beginning, Harry pondered. Harry had always feared Vernon. He'd certainly never had problems hitting Harry in the past. But never had Harry feared for his life before with them. And he was beginning to now. In fact, his aching ribs were a constant reminder of Vernon's rage, as were the other bruises and cuts he'd begun to accumulate. Always in the past, the Dursleys had loathed Harry, but they had still needed him to do all those chores they were too lazy to do themselves. This year, though, they hadn't cared.  
  
Vernon had hired a landscape company to tend to his lawn, and Petunia now baked all the family meals since Dudley had been released from his diet for the summer. Harry suspected Dudley truly hadn't been cleared by the school nutritionist. It was far more likely that Petunia couldn't bear to continue to torment her son with the *cruel* diet the school had tried to enforce.  
  
A housekeeper came once a week and did every room but Harry's. Sometimes Harry had to suppress the urge to pound on the door and call for help as he heard her vacuum the hallway outside his room. But he knew… Harry had learned that no one was coming. No one would come. He'd just bring more trouble on himself than he was prepared to deal with, and Harry just didn't have the energy to spare any more.  
  
All he had to do was get through the summer. When he didn't show up for the beginning of school, someone would come. He just had to hang on until then. Hedwig tapped against the window again insistently. Harry started. He must have started to fall asleep. Bad idea, he thought to himself. He forced himself to wake up and looked outside, peering right into Hedwig's concerned eyes.  
  
"Sorry, I must have drifted," Harry whispered reassuringly. Hedwig began to get irritated, and hooted more persistently. Harry frowned.  
  
"What is it?" he asked her. She hopped to the side of the windowsill and looked down at the lawn below.  
  
For a moment he saw nothing. Then he jumped as he realized that one of the shadows had moved. Chills went up his spine and his skin began to tingle. Harry's eyes widened in terror as he stood up now and pressed his face against the crack. Yes, the shadow had moved. And now there was another. And another. Harry's heart was in his throat. His wand was locked downstairs in the cupboard. He had to get to it.  
  
Harry watched the shadows as they approached the house. They wore robes and appeared to be whispering to each other. There was no question they were going to break in. Harry tried to determine what to do. Should he wake up the Dursleys and try to persuade them to open the door? Would that give him a chance? Yes and no. Vernon might open the door, but it would be to beat him for waking them up. And if the shadows were Death Eaters as Harry suspected, they'd kill the Dursleys whether they cooperated or not. As much as he hated them, he didn't want them dead.  
  
So he was on his own. And Vernon had put deadbolts on Harry's door. He'd tried for two weeks to pick the locks, but didn't have anything sturdy and thin enough to do the job. Vernon had heard him one night, and Harry hadn't tried it since. He couldn't think of any other way to get to his wand.  
  
Harry's eyes were adjusted to the darkness. Looking around the room, he saw a broken floor lamp in the corner. It was the closest thing to a blunt instrument he could find. It was had a small table in the center of the lamp designed to hold drinks, and Harry decided it would also help him to lever it on his shoulder. The base of the lamp, although not as nearly impressive as a baseball bat would have been, could still do the job. He tore the shade off the top, and dragged the lamp with him to stand behind the door, ready to swing it at the intruder when the door was opened.  
  
Harry heard the kitchen door open downstairs, and listened, nearly panting with fear, as the stairs creaked under the weight of the intruders. Harry could hear whispering now, although he couldn't hear the words. He weakly lifted the floor lamp above his head, his arms quivering at the effort. He hoped they wouldn't dally in the hall too long.  
  
"Alohamora," whispered a man's voice softly. The door came open, and as a figure stepped forward Harry swung the lamp down fiercely.  
  
"Harry?" Sirius' voice whispered urgently. Oh no! Harry changed the arc of the lamp at the last second, it's heavy pedestal narrowly missing Sirius' head.  
  
"Sirius!" Harry said as Sirius leaped away in surprise.  
  
"Did you find him?" Remus Lupin asked as he entered Harry's room as well.  
  
"You nearly scared me to death!" Harry whispered fiercely, nearly laughing in relief. A third figure entered the room.  
  
"Everyone's still asleep," Arthur Weasley said, following behind Professor Lupin. Harry had not turned on any lights, so they all stood in the darkness. Harry felt himself shivering now that the adrenaline had passed.  
  
"They will remain so, too. I cast a sleep spell on them. We can talk normally," Professor Lupin said.  
  
"Then turn on some lights so I can see what Harry nearly bludgeoned me to death with," Sirius said, trying to sound light hearted although Harry could clearly hear the worry in Sirius' voice.  
  
"Lumos," Arthur Weasley muttered, and all three stared at Harry in shock.  
  
"Um, hi," Harry said and smiled weakly. He'd set the lamp to the side and now had to reach out and grip it to keep himself upright. He looked from one face to the other, trying to read what he saw there.  
  
"Oh Merlin," Sirius said, and Harry watched as Sirius' eyes teared up. "What have they done to you?" he asked as he approached Harry.  
  
Harry tried to smile again, to say something reassuring, but he knew the look in their eyes. He hadn't seen himself in a mirror in a long time, and by their expressions he didn't look well. He didn't want to think about how the room probably smelled to them.  
  
Remus and Arthur had begun looking around the room, piecing together Harry's summer. Over a month he'd lived in this room. Arthur began to clench his jaw and turn red.  
  
"Where are your things?" he asked, the intensity startling Harry. He'd never seen this side of Arthur Weasley. For a moment he thought it was directed at him.  
  
"In the cupboard under the stairs," Harry replied. Mr. Weasley nodded and stalked out of the room.  
  
Sirius stood directly in front of Harry now, unsure how to approach him. Harry recognized his tentativeness and reached out to hug him, relief and gratitude nearly overwhelming him. Someone came. Someone missed him, and came for him.  
  
Sirius jumped at Harry's initiative, taking him in his arms and holding him tightly. Too tightly in fact, as Harry's ribs sent out waves of pain that made him gasp for breath and spots to dance in front of his eyes.  
  
"Harry?" Sirius asked, immediately releasing Harry, yet still holding his shoulders as he looked into his eyes. "What is it?" he asked, his face contorted with concern.  
  
"Sorry. My ribs," Harry said as he struggled to regain his breath. His legs gave out on him and Harry watched the floor leap up to meet him. "Oh dear," Harry thought distractedly, and felt Sirius catch him.  
  
"I've got his trunk," Arthur Weasley called from downstairs.  
  
"Is there anything else, Harry, that you want to take with you?" Remus Lupin asked, his face unreadable as he looked at Harry resting in Sirius's arms.  
  
Harry was still having a hard time catching his breath, but gasped out, "Floorboards. Under the bed," he said, then his eyes rolled up in his head as his body went limp and he passed out. 


	2. The Burrow

Disclaimer: Oh my! I didn't put one in last chapter. I wish Harry Potter was mine. Instead, Harry and all the characters in this story belong to the esteemed J.K. Rowling. I'm not making any money off it, and after all isn't imitation the best flattery anyway?  
  
Lindsay: I'll explain in more depth, but the principle reason Sirius and Remus were able to get to Harry at all was because of Arthur Weasley. Nope, Sirius isn't free, poor man. BTW, thank you!  
  
Lily, Phoenix, Otaku freak, Prongs, and ten: Thank you so much for the reviews. You are all my first (as this is my first post). I can certainly see how this becomes addictive!  
  
Lady of Arundel: I'm dying for the next installment to your own piece! I'm thoroughly enjoying your story and look forward to see your version of how to tackle Severitus' Challenge.  
  
Lady FoxFire: I read your story while I was at work (you don't know my name, and I'll never tell… bwah hah hah hah!) ahem, so you can imagine my surprise to have to hide tears while reading Harry's letters! I'm definitely anxious for your next chapter as well.  
  
Nicky: G That's a reference to my day job, BTW, as well as my favorite movie! Yes, Harry definitely needs the TLC, doesn't he?  
  
On to Chapter Two...  
  
  
  
"Harry? Harry!" Sirius said urgently as he watched the boy lose unconsciousness. He weighed next to nothing in Sirius' arms. Sirius fought the panic rising in his throat as he watched Harry's chest still rise and fall. He was still breathing, thank Merlin.  
  
"I found it, Sirius," Remus said, pulling out some books and a small box from some pried up floorboards underneath Harry's bed.  
  
Remus tucked Harry's things underneath his arms and looked at Sirius with a nearly expressionless face, his body completely still. Sirius knew that look. That was when the wolf was closest to the surface.  
  
Sirius held Harry closely to him as he headed downstairs. There was no time to waste. By the look of Harry, they'd nearly been too late. They still might be. Remus followed closely behind. Arthur had already thrown the floo powder into the fireplace, the fire illuminating the living room eerily. Arthur's eyes widened as he saw Harry in Sirius' arms.  
  
"Go last, or Remus might kill them," Sirius said to Arthur, who nodded as his eyes stared at Harry's still form. Besides, Sirius intended to do that later himself. "Not that I don't want them dead. But Harry won't," Sirius explained. He nearly snorted as he realized he felt he had to explain himself for not killing those… animals. "The Burrow," Sirius said aloud and stepped through the fireplace.  
  
Remus paused for a moment. Arthur waited silently for him. Remus' eyes glowed eerily in the firelight as he looked behind him, back up the stairs towards the sleeping Dursley's bedchambers, then at Arthur, and finally towards the fireplace. Arthur could have sworn he heard a growl moments before Remus said, "The Burrow," and followed Sirius.  
  
Arthur's eyes took in the tidy Dursley home for a moment, amazed at what monsters they really were, suppressing his own rage. Harry was as dear to Molly and himself as one of their own children. How anyone could abuse such a soft spoken, gentle, and loving boy…? Arthur shook his head, ending his own reverie before he marched upstairs and killed those Dursleys himself.  
  
"Never again," he swore to the empty room. "I don't care what Dumbledore says. Never again does Harry Potter have to live in this… place," Arthur vowed and stepped into the fireplace as well, calling out for home.  
  
******************************  
  
Sirius was greeted with a cacophony of voices and bright lights as he stepped into the Weasley living room.  
  
"Oh no," Molly Weasley said, tears instantly springing into her eyes as she took in the sight of Harry in Sirius' arms. "Set him here for now, we need to take a look at him," Molly instructed, who tenderly lay Harry on the couch. Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny had all been waiting for them to return, and now stood staring in shock at the sight of their friend.  
  
"Ginny, get a wash cloth and some warm water in a basin. Fred, get some blankets and a pillow. George, contact Dumbledore and let him know we'll need Madam Pomfrey's expertise," Molly instructed and her children leaped up to obey her. "Fetch me my wand, Ron," Molly said gently to her son, who nodded meekly and reluctantly left the room for a moment to get it.  
  
Remus and Arthur had returned as well and stood at the foot of the couch, watching as Molly quickly took charge of the chaos. Sirius settled beside Harry, holding Harry's pale limp hand close to his chest as tears ran down his face unnoticed. Ron returned, handing his mother her wand and stood behind the couch watching Harry closely, his eyes wide.  
  
"Sirius, let me get him settled first, alright?" Molly said gently, her hand on Sirius' shoulder. He nodded and stood up, backing away, his hand reluctantly releasing Harry's. He walked around to stand beside Ron, who reached over and hugged him, much to Sirius' surprise.  
  
"Thank you for getting him," Ron said, his voice trembling as he fought back tears.  
  
"I should have come sooner…" Sirius said, his own voice thick with grief. "Look what they did to him! To Harry!" he said, and ran a trembling hand through his unkempt black hair. He squeezed Ron's shoulders and turned again to Harry's still form, his hands clenched into fists which he savagely tucked into his robes. He ground his teeth in anger at his own delays, however justifiable they might seem to someone else. He'd taken too long. He'd left him to this…  
  
Molly quickly cast a spell to remove Harry's unsightly hand-me-down clothes. They were filthy. She glared at the torn and bloody pile and said with a snarl, "Comburo." The clothes flashed with fire and in an instant were nothing but ash.  
  
Sirius watched her eyes as she desperately took in the extent of damage, trying to determine if she thought Harry would be okay. The bruising along Harry's torso stood out starkly against his protruding ribs and nearly transluscent skin. He was cool to the touch and clammy. His face was filthy, but there also seemed to be swelling around his eye and there were clear bruises in the shape of fingers around Harry's neck. Molly looked up at Arthur, her eyes nearly black with rage.  
  
Fred had returned with some blankets, which he still held close to his chest as he stumbled to a halt beside Remus and stared at Harry. Molly nearly sobbed as she shook her head, looking at the injuries, both old and new, and Harry's nearly skeletal frame. She reached out for the blankets, which Fred handed to her, taking the other end and between the two of them wrapping Harry warmly.  
  
The normally noisy Weasley household was silent except for the popping of the wood in the fireplace as they waited for Mrs. Weasley's assessment of Harry's condition.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey will be here within the half hour," George said as he rushed back into the room and stood next to Fred. Molly nodded.  
  
"Thank you, George. I think he'll be okay until then," she said, although she didn't sound certain.  
  
"You hope," Sirius thought with dread as he realized Molly wasn't sure.  
  
Ginny came downstairs next, carefully balancing the basin so as not to spill any water and setting it on the coffee table beside the couch. As she stepped away, she registered Harry's bruised face and neck, her eyes huge. She looked at Harry for a moment, then at Ron with tears in her eyes.  
  
"You were right. I couldn't imagine this, but you were right…" Ginny said softly to him. Ron looked at Ginny as tears began to spill down his face. He shook his head angrily.  
  
"I wish I hadn't been. How could Dumbledore keep Harry there?" Ron asked the silent room. No one had an answer. "Did you know he didn't even get Christmas presents until he came to Hogwarts?" Ron demanded of the room in anger.  
  
"Ron, that's not going to do any good right now," Arthur Weasley said and reached out, taking Ron into his arms. Ron didn't resist. Instead, he turned to continue watching Harry from within the protection of Arthur's embrace.  
  
"Thank you, dear," Molly said to Ginny and took the washcloth, dipped it into the water, and squeezed it out a little as she began to gently wash Harry's face. "We've all met them, Ron. We've seen how skinny he is normally, especially at the beginning of the year. He's so small for his age. But has he talked about this? With anyone?" she asked the room in general. No one said anything.  
  
"Right now let's just worry about him getting better, okay?" she said, locking eyes with Ron for a moment before turning all her attention back to Harry. Sirius watched her battle her own emotions as she tried to clean off Harry's face, only to discover most of what she thought was dirt and filth was in fact nearly all bruising. Sirius had to force himself not to begin pacing back and forth, his anxiety nearly overriding everything else. Harry was too still. He could barely see the rise and fall of his chest. He was so pale, so... Merlin, he could die!  
  
"Well?" Arthur asked Molly for an update as she sighed, breaking the silence. She stood up and arched her back wearily. Fred and George both jumped at their father's voice.  
  
"I'm not an expert, Arthur. Some broken ribs, strains, malnourishment… those are the obvious. You can see he was clearly strangled at some point. I won't know the true extent of his injuries until Madame Pomfrey gets here," she said. She looked intently at her husband for a moment, then glanced at the rest of the family.  
  
"Dumbledore will be here shortly. We don't have enough room for everyone. Upstairs with you. Once Madame Pomfrey is done with Harry and we've got him settled, I'll bring you all back down," Molly announced to her children. They all went upstairs except for Ron.  
  
"I'm not leaving," Ron said. Molly's eyes flashed for a moment, then she nodded. She knew a losing battle when she saw one.  
  
"I understand. You can stay then, but quietly," she instructed. Ron nodded gratefully and stayed where he was, his eyes never leaving Harry.  
  
"It was bad, wasn't it?" Molly asked the three men. Arthur nodded. Molly closed her eyes. "I just pray we were in time," she said. Sirius added his own 'amen' to that. 


	3. Dreams and Revelations

Disclaimer: Harry Potter… Still not mine.  
  
Winter Angle: Hmmm. Sure! Thanks. That would be cool. I'd have a beta reader… I think that means I'm moving up in the world. The first step of course was to post. g  
  
Lindsay: I know, I know. Missed opportunities. I hope to give Sirius a chance to reap some sort of revenge on the Dursleys, but forcing Remus to restrain Sirius seemed a bit overdone. I always got the impression that Remus cared just as much for Harry, just in a much more subtle way. Besides, I figured Sirius would put Harry first, then deal with them later. If Harry had appeared dead… all bets would have been off. But yeah, you're most likely right.  
  
Nicky: Doh! You are so right! blushes with embarrassment Ahem. Chapter One has been reposted with the first couple of paragraphs slightly modified to reflect the proper lunar cycle. Details! G  
  
Velondra, MidnightDragon, Elizabeth Bathory, tsuki tatsu, Prongs, clingon87, ciauntie, John'sSunshine+Rupert'sPrincess, Sandrine Black, Otaku freak: Thank you all for reviewing! I had no idea how much fun this is. I keep peeking throughout the day… hehehehe  
  
Well. On with the show…  
  
Chapter 3  
  
  
  
Voices were the first thing Harry was consciously aware of. Faint at first, the volume increased, but Harry let the words themselves slip by undeciphered. He was warm and comfortable. Hmmm.  
  
"Was he dead?" The thought idly drifted by. He didn't think so. His ribs still ached. Why did they ache? The Dursleys… No. There was something else. Oh yes. Sirius! Sirius had come for him. He'd been worried, and busted him out of 4 Privet Drive. Harry felt his heart swell at the thought. There was so much else he couldn't seem to find any good in any more, but this mattered to him more than anything. Sentences were beginning to penetrate his peaceful world now.  
  
"…food and rest. I've left nutritional potions for him to take three times a day. Two healing potions need to be taken twice a day; one for the bruising and broken ribs, and the other for the internal damage done by the severe malnutrition…" a voice said firmly. Harry knew that voice: Madame Pomfrey. So was he in the Hospital Wing? Harry started to stir. Sirius…  
  
"He's waking up," a voice said. Mr. Weasley.  
  
"Am I really waking up?" Harry wondered. He tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry to do so. He wasn't sure if he wanted to wake up yet. This was the most comfortable he'd been in such a long time.  
  
"Harry?" Sirius's voice said gently near Harry's ear. "Wake up, okay? Madame Pomfrey needs to check you over."  
  
Harry didn't really want to wake up. Waking up meant facing his pain again. The dreams, Cedric, his life… But it would be so nice to see Sirius. He sounded worried, and Harry wanted to reassure him.  
  
Already his scar was starting to sting. Harry hissed in pain as he stirred, his ribs reminding him to choose a lighter lamp next time, and tried to open his eyes. After a few failed attempts to focus, Harry fixed his eyes on the dark haired man at his side. Sirius gently tried to place Harry's glasses on his face. After poking Harry in the ear the first time, Sirius managed to set them squarely on his nose. Harry smiled as he saw Sirius' tense features.  
  
"Hi," Harry said, his voice barely a whisper.  
  
"Let me see to him first, Sirius," Madame Pomfrey said briskly, stepping in front of Sirius, and began to ask Harry what hurt, what he'd last had to eat, to follow her wand with his eyes, and to move his limbs, among other things. Harry blinked as Sirius moved out of her way quickly. Harry endured Madame Pomfrey's endless questions and commands, wearily obeying. When at last she seemed satisfied, she walked towards Professor Dumbledore, allowing Harry's first glimpse of where he was and who was in the room. He was at the Burrow.  
  
"How can I be in the Burrow?" Harry wondered. It was far too quiet for that.  
  
He was in the Weasley living room. Sirius, Ron, Professor Lupin, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Madame Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore were all there as well, watching both him and Madame Pomprey intently. Harry noticed that her face held a stern expression as she locked eyes with Dumbledore and nodded her head towards the kitchen. She wished to speak privately, and everyone except Sirius and Ron followed her into the other room to hear what her pronouncements regarding Harry's health would be. Sirius though had returned to Harry's side, taking his hand in his own. Ron stood beside him, his eyes intense with worry.  
  
"How are you feeling?" Sirius asked.  
  
"Warm. It feels nice," Harry whispered. He was lying on the Weasley couch wrapped up in blankets. He had a pillow behind his head, and felt more comfortable than he had in a long time. "Hey," Harry said, nodding to Ron. Ron smiled weakly.  
  
"Bloody hell, Harry. What did they do to you?" Ron asked. Sirius shot him an angry glance, but Harry squeezed Sirius' hand reassuringly.  
  
"It's been a rough holiday," Harry replied dryly. He really didn't want to talk about it anyway.  
  
"Good thing you've still got a month to recover. It looks like you're going to need every day of it," Ron stated. Leave it to Ron, Harry thought in amusement.  
  
"What made you come?" Harry asked Sirius, torn as always between his fear for his Godfather's safety and the overwhelming need for his presence. He'd assumed that everyone at the Weasley home now knew of Sirius' innocence, otherwise they would have blasted him to the next millennium by now. "Well, maybe not Madame Pomfrey," Harry thought with a small smile as he remembered seeing Sirius keep a good distance from her. She hadn't shot any dark looks his way though, Harry realized gratefully.  
  
"When none of my owls reached you," Sirius said flatly, his eyes searching Harry's face.  
  
"Then Hedwig turned up to stay permanently, and with no letter. I knew something was wrong," Ron said, biting his lower lip and shaking his head. He looked at Harry. "I had Hermione try to reach you the Muggle way, and the Dursleys told her no one by the name of Harry Potter lived there," he said, his face flushing in anger.  
  
"Ron owled me with that tidbit of news…" Sirius said, practically snarling.  
  
"… and I knew we'd need to bust you out again," Ron interrupted enthusiastically. "But Dumbledore wouldn't let us," he said, his face dark.  
  
"…and I disagreed with Dumbledore," Sirius stated.  
  
Harry was looking from one to the other as they spoke, feeling like he was watching a Quiddich match.  
  
"Ron and Hermione knew I would get you out no matter what," Sirius said firmly, and Harry didn't miss the venomous look Sirius sent in Dumbledore's general direction.  
  
"But Padfoot knew he couldn't take you into hiding with him, so he'd have to make other arrangements," Professor Lupin said as he left the kitchen and came over to stand next to Sirius, resting a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Remus, ever the voice of reason, knew you liked the Burrow and suggested we approach Arthur and Molly about it," Sirius said with a toothy smile as his friend joined them.  
  
"Which would also make it easier to reach you, as the Weasleys have been to your home already and could help us get past the barriers," Professor Lupin said.  
  
"But doesn't that mean…?" Harry asked, suddenly very concerned that the Weasleys could be used to try to reach him. That meant they'd be in even more danger. He couldn't allow that. He looked around for Dumbledore, upset at what he'd learned, when Sirius leaned forward and rested his forehead against Harry's. Harry froze at the tender gesture.  
  
"Harry, I know what you're thinking, and you're wrong. They aren't in any more danger now than they had been before. I'll let you in on a secret Dumbledore told me," Sirius whispered gently, looking intently into Harry's eyes. His hair tickled the side of Harry's cheek.  
  
"What?" Harry asked, his heart in his throat, desperate to stay and yet resigned that he could not.  
  
"The only wizards and witches who can pass the protective barriers on the Dursley house must love you," Sirius whispered, then pulled back, smiling.  
  
"So…" Harry said, amazed by what he had just learned.  
  
"So Sirius decides to reveal himself to the Weasleys and explain what really happened," Professor Lupin said, shaking his head and effectively cutting off Harry's questions with a look that told Harry to ask again later.  
  
"Thanks to Ron, they heard me out, but it was still a close call," Sirius said wryly.  
  
"Actually, they nearly made Sirius a replacement as the family pet…" Remus said, raising an eyebrow wryly. Harry smiled. He suspected he hadn't meant that in a good way, and could imagine how frightening Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were when angry.  
  
"But they'd already met your appalling relatives, so it didn't take much persuasion to enlist their aid once we convinced them that something was wrong," Sirius said. Harry frowned.  
  
"But if Dumbledore didn't think it was safe…. I could be endangering everyone here," Harry whispered. Dread began to fill the pit of his stomach as he tried to sit up. Sirius shook his head and pressed a hand against Harry's shoulder, pushing him back onto the couch. Harry waited for the pain to subside, taking small breaths. It had been a bad idea to move, but he couldn't let anything happen to the Weasleys.  
  
"No, you aren't, Harry. Stay still and hear me out. It turns out Dumbledore has been working most of the summer adding new protections to both the Burrow and the Granger's home. Add to that one perfectly qualified former Aurorer, one former DADA professor, and an entire family of very capable wizards and witches, and you've got yourself a refuge," Sirius said with a slight smile. Harry could tell Sirius was working hard to keep spirits light, and was grateful for it. So he could stay? Harry was afraid to hope.  
  
"Harry, the Burrow is almost as safe as the Dursley home was," Dumbledore said as he too left the kitchen and gently sat next to Harry on the couch. "I'd intended in a week or two to allow the Weasleys to bring you here. Sirius merely upped the timetable," Dumbledore said, then leaned forward, his bright eyes concerned.  
  
Harry blinked at the expression on Dumbledore's face. It threw him. So far, he'd been able to keep things light and not talk about what happened, but it felt to Harry like Dumbledore could see through all that, and that he could clearly see Harry's pain. Harry prayed he wouldn't have to talk about it. Not now.  
  
"Harry," Dumbledore said, leaning forward. "I will have to ask at some point," he said gently. Harry was yet again amazed at how much Dumbledore seemed to see into his innermost thoughts and fears. Harry tried again to swallow, and failed. Sirius frowned, then stood up and glanced at Madame Pomfrey as she and Ron's parents returned to the living room.  
  
"Could I get Harry something to drink?" Sirius asked her. She nodded, and they both set off for the kitchen again.  
  
"I know," Harry replied to Dumbledore, then looked at the small pile of books sitting on his trunk next to the fireplace. They'd found his things hidden under the bed. "One of those books is a journal. Hermione gave it to me. I've been using it to record my dreams," Harry told him. He knew how important this was to Dumbledore.  
  
Everyone in the room was silent for a moment. Harry reluctantly raised his eyes to meet Dumbledore's. "This will at least forestall some of his questions," Harry thought gratefully. He hadn't wanted to live it, let alone talk about it. That included both Voldemort and the Dursleys.  
  
"Your scar's been hurting, then?" Dumbledore asked, although it was more of a statement than a question. Harry nodded.  
  
"All the time," Harry replied wearily. Harry glanced over at Ron, who'd grown pale but said nothing. Harry wondered what was being reported in the Daily Prophet about Voldemort's activities, and how much Ron was aware of. Did Mr. Weasley talk about it?  
  
"Then if you don't mind, I'd like to take the journal? I'll return it in a few days when I come back to check up on you," Dumbledore asked, smiling gently in understanding.  
  
"Please," Harry said. He didn't really want it back anyway, but Hermione had given it to him.  
  
"Of course," Dumbledore agreed.  
  
Sirius returned with a glass of water. He sat next to Harry and gently lifted his head to allow Harry to sip it, which he did so eagerly. The cool water felt great against Harry's parched and swollen throat. Harry felt his eyes begin to close and struggled to open them again as he relished being able to swallow.  
  
"No, Harry, it's okay. You need your rest. Go to sleep now. I'll see you in a couple of days," Dumbledore said and gently brushed the hair off of Harry's forehead. "You're safe now," he whispered, and Harry listened as floo powder was thrown into the fireplace. Sirius squeezed Harry's hand gently.  
  
"Yeah, hurry up and get well. Fred and George have been a terror all summer, and I need a partner to help me get them back properly," Ron said.  
  
Harry smiled, Sirius' hand still in his, and let his thoughts drift. He was staying. He was staying the rest of the summer with people he loved. Ron spoke some more with Sirius, but Harry wasn't listening. He floated away, and wondered if his dreams would be pleasant for once. 


	4. Damage

Disclaimer: Harry Potter… Still not mine.  
  
Thanks again to everyone who reviewed. I don't think I've had this much fun in a long time!  
  
Lady of Arundel: Yep, I think what's in the journal will play a big part in upcoming chapters. I'll need to get back to you as to how… g  
  
Sparks: Just keep reading. 8-)  
  
Otaku freak: Bwah hah hah hah. Very intuitive!  
  
Well, this chapter took a complete left turn from where I intended it to go, but sometimes things like that happen. Hope it doesn't disappoint. Enjoy!  
  
  
  
Chapter 4  
  
Sirius sat next to the fireplace, soaking up the heat. He was in the living room with Molly, Arthur and Remus. Harry had been carried upstairs earlier after awakening from a nightmare. Sirius ground his teeth anxiously. He knew the visions were bad, but Sirius had never realized how bad. Not until witnessing it firsthand.  
  
Harry had been asleep for nearly three hours when he started to stir. Sirius could see that it was a dream, and a bad one at that. He'd tried to wake Harry up. At first there was no response. Shaking him more firmly, still mindful of Harry's injuries, Sirius was not prepared for Harry's response.  
  
Harry had nearly leaped off the couch, clearly working to suppress a scream as his eyes stared at something far beyond the confines of the Weasley living room. Tears slid down his cheeks unnoticed. In only a few moments his injuries caught up with him as Harry's normally brilliant green eyes, pupils now dilated, rolled up in his head and he collapsed. His hand was still pressed against his forehead and his face contorted in pain. As unconsciousness claimed him, Sirius saw that Harry's scar looked red and raw, and a few drops of blood were on Harry's palm. The scar, however, still remained sealed.  
  
Sirius suppressed the urge to bang his head against the stones behind him in frustration. How could he help Harry when everything that happened to him seemed beyond Sirius' control? How could he protect Harry from Voldemort when at his most vulnerable, Harry had no choice but to witness Voldemort's unspeakable acts?  
  
"It certainly seems that Madame Pomfrey's fears are justified, if this is any indication," Remus was saying to Arthur and Molly. Sirius found he really admired the Weasleys. They were everything he'd never had or even knew he wanted. Realistically, they weren't much older than he or Remus were, but they seemed so much more… conventional. "You can't have seven children and not appear more mature to me, I guess," Sirius thought wryly. Molly had begged Dumbledore for Harry to stay at the Burrow over the summer shortly after the TriWizard Tournament. She wanted so badly to help, but she couldn't.  
  
Just like he hadn't been able to help when Harry needed him most. He'd seen Harry's lost look that night after Fudge had left. Dumbledore had given him a mission, and he knew it was needed. Things were looking bleak; with Fudge in denial and Voldemort returned to flesh and blood… Harry's blood… desperate times called for desperate measures. Like a convicted felon approaching people only he knew where to find, and convincing them that a.) he didn't kill Peter, and b.) Voldemort really was back. Sirius had hated having to leave Harry. Looking back now, he wished with all his heart that he hadn't. Dumbledore had been wrong. Harry had needed him, and he hadn't been there.  
  
"Sirius, quit banging your head against the fireplace," Remus said with a frown as he continued talking to the Weasleys.  
  
"Oh, oops," Sirius thought as he stopped. So that's why he was beginning to develop a headache. He'd not intended to actually do that. He looked up to see Molly staring at him, a little concern and apprehension in her eyes. Sirius tried to smile reassuringly. "Nothing wrong here. Nothing to see. Move along," he thought to himself.  
  
"Quit smiling, you're scaring your hosts," Remus said, still frowning.  
  
"Oh, shut up, Moony. I'm allowed my eccentricities," Sirius growled irritably.  
  
Madame Pomfrey's news had been bleak. She'd tried to heal as many of Harry's injuries as she could, but some were too old to be properly healed by magic. Harry's physical prognosis from his most recent injuries was excellent. Madame Pomfrey was equally confident Molly could add quite a few pounds to the starved Seeker. However, Madame Pomfrey had come across something far more disturbing as she had examined Harry.  
  
The pain he felt from his scar could possibly be beginning to have a physical effect apart from the obvious. Not all of Harry's physical symptoms spoke of abuse, malnutrition and sleep deprivation. Madame Pomfrey had spoken of it only because of Harry's dulled reflexes and seemingly unnaturally high tolerance to pain. She said it was a 'worst case scenario', according to Remus, and most likely just her being paranoid. Sirius privately wondered where she came across the odd phrases. They sounded ominous to him. She'd told Remus and the Weasleys that there was a possibility the scar might be causing neurological damage. It might even be causing brain damage. Sirius closed his eyes at the thought. He held back the scream that sometimes seemed just on the tip of his lips.  
  
Not unexpectedly, everyone had been horrified. Madame Pomfrey had raised a hand and said that she'd need to perform some more tests in a few days when the healing potions had begun to take effect, and until that time not to worry.  
  
"Too late", he thought. "How many more dreams will Harry have had by then? James, we haven't done right by your son. None of us," Sirius thought sadly, closing his eyes and sighing as he remembered James' face as clearly now as he had twelve years ago. He listened to Remus continue to discuss what Madame Pomfrey had said in the kitchen. Remus was in full professor mode now.  
  
"…talk about it. I think opening up will be Harry's biggest obstacle. He's been raised all his life to believe he's a burden, so he just keeps absorbing his pain into himself, thinking he deserves it," Remus said.  
  
"Yes, that's true. Please let it be something emotional rather than something physical. Nothing permanent," Sirius prayed silently to whatever god currently felt sorry for wrongly convicted escaped convicts.  
  
"I've reached out to him, Remus, but he doesn't even seem to know how to respond," Molly was saying sadly.  
  
"He's most at home with the Ron and the twins, but even they were never told about the Dursleys," Arthur said, his glasses flashing in the firelight as he shook his head. Sirius watched him speculatively. "I knew they were awful people. It doesn't take a genius to realize that if they spoke to Harry like that, of course they would do far worse," he said softly. Sirius recognized that tone. Arthur felt responsible.  
  
"Forget it, Arthur. We all knew the Dursleys were horrible. Lily never could stand Petunia, and I don't think Lily had a mean bone in her body," Sirius said. Molly rested her hand on Arthur's forearm gently, trying to reassure him as well.  
  
"He's here now, and things could have gotten a lot worse. By all accounts, they almost did," Molly said. Remus' face remained expressionless at that statement. It was a good thing she hadn't gone. Harry would need her optimism to recover, so Sirius suspected no one who went to that house to rescue The Boy Who Lived would ever tell her differently.  
  
"A couple more years and Harry will be old enough to leave on his own. The damage is done," Sirius thought bitterly, then squashed his own feelings of helplessness and rage. Sirius glanced up to see Remus studying him silently while Arthur and Molly talked with each other softly. Remus stood up wearily, his tall frame so thin that he reminded Sirius, not for the first time, of an impoverished aristrocrat. "Off with their head," the random thought flashed through Sirius' consciousness, and he had to suppress the urge to start hitting his head once again on the fireplace.  
  
"It's never a good idea to leave you alone with your thoughts," Remus observed as he adjusted his robes to sit next to Sirius. He folded up on himself and looked at his friend intently.  
  
"I keep myself company quite nicely," Sirius retorted. Remus raised an eyebrow wryly. He didn't appreciate the humor.  
  
"I see you over here beating yourself up," Remus said quietly, then sighed and tilted his head back, resting it against the fireplace, closing his eyes as he continued to speak. "I don't think I've ever met anyone with worse luck than Harry," he said pensively.  
  
"I have," Sirius replied. Remus turned to Sirius sharply.  
  
"Stop it. There's enough to feel bad about without adding imaginary things onto it. James and Lily had a magical relationship. They found true love, something I still hope someday to have. James wreaked havoc as a Marauder, and then met a beautiful woman, married her, and had a terrific child with her. Things went bad… I can't imagine anything more awful than that night at Godric Hollow… but their pain has ended, Sirius. It's Harry we've got to concentrate on. It's about time he had the kind of life he always should have had," Remus said firmly. Sirius resented the reprimand, but couldn't fault Remus' points.  
  
"Stop it, Moony. Sometimes I need to wallow," Sirius replied after a few moments.  
  
"That's the last thing you need. You've had twelve years of nothing but the worst life has to offer. But you're free now. You escaped. You did it, Sirius. You're sane… well, for the most part…"  
  
"Hah hah," Sirius replied.  
  
"The one person you absolutely expected to hate you, doesn't. Harry loves you. He believes you, Sirius, and he believes in you," Remus said, then paused, sighing deeply. "But he's in a bad place. He's been abused for years, and the things he's experienced… He's just too damn young."  
  
"Moony, I know what would help him, I just can't give it to him," Sirius said.  
  
"What?" Remus asked curiously.  
  
"Peace. Sleep. These dreams aren't allowing Harry to move past what happened last year. He's stuck in his own memories as well as receiving horrific new ones every night. Get rid of the visions, and he'll at least be able to put some distance between Voldemort and himself," Sirius said. "I'll bet that once the visions stop, or at least decrease in frequency, Harry will stop showing the symptoms that frightened Madame Pomfrey so much. I mean, who needs Dementors when you're a fly on the wall in Voldemort's living room?"  
  
Remus was silent, and Sirius realized Molly and Arthur were now listening as well. Molly nodded, and Sirius paused at the expression on her face. She stood up, excusing herself for a moment, while Arthur frowned, watching her go.  
  
"Molly?" he asked curiously.  
  
"Well, he's spot on, Arthur. We need to find a way to protect Harry from those dreams. I think I'll send an owl to Dumbledore about this right now, while I'm sure he's reading Harry's journal," she said firmly.  
  
Sirius smiled as he continued to listen to Remus and Arthur discuss their continued efforts against Voldemort, and what might help Harry. Remus looked at him curiously, and perhaps with a little nervousness as well. Sirius just smiled bigger, then dramatically yawned and stood up. He knew tonight there was nothing he could do to make Harry sleep better, but there was something he could do to make himself feel better.  
  
"I think it's time for bed. Good night," Sirius said and left the living room, feeling Remus' gaze burning into his back. "You're too suspicious, you old wolf," Sirius thought, and decided to give Remus a little sleeping charm once he went to bed, to insure he didn't hear Sirius stir in the middle of the night.  
  
He didn't want any confrontations for what he intended to due. He'd been far too concerned with Harry at the time, but his rage at the Dursleys had not abated. He knew he couldn't hurt them. To do so would finally give the Ministry something real to send him to Azkaban over. Harry would never forgive him either. But what he intended would certainly suffice for the interim. Soon it would be time to pay the Dursleys a little visit… 


	5. Sirius Revenge

Disclaimer: Harry Potter still isn't mine, darn it!  
  
Question to ponder (and answer appreciated if you have one). Why, oh why doesn't italics show up?  
  
Nicky: I absolutely agree.  
  
Lady of Arundel, Sparks, and Aly Teima: I very much enjoy your stories, so please know how greatly I appreciate the imput!  
  
Venus4280, Nell, vmr, Phoenix, I'll be gred today, Michelle, Kat, Lynx, velondra, Kay, evilgirlcarley2002, and Belle: Thank you all so much for reviewing. I appreciate all the kind words.  
  
Author's Note: I'm glad you liked the little twist I threw in there. Believe it or not, I do have a plot somewhere, it's just going to take a while to get to it. In the meantime, I appreciate all the kind reviews, as this is my first fanfiction ever. Hope you enjoy!  
  
  
  
Chapter 5  
  
Revenge is an art form, just as pranks can be. The key to revenge is to make the cost of an action so high that no one is willing to risk receiving it again. The second trick, equally important, is to make the possibility of retribution ever present. If the intended recipient knows that while on holiday, they can commit the action without revenge, they will do so.  
  
Escalation is an important factor in revenge. If the lesson isn't learned the first time, make it more painful the second. One might argue that this is more like discipline than revenge. Not so. Discipline entails that no satisfaction be gained at the expense of the lesson. Sirius smiled toothily. He would enjoy this greatly, and not just tonight…  
  
Sirius had learned a hard truth about himself in Azkaban. He had a dark side. It was this side of him that made people believe in the possibility of Pettigrew's lie, even the people who knew and loved Sirius. He hadn't resented it. Actually, quite the opposite. He found it hard to believe himself capable of anything good. Even Remus hadn't understood that there would never be a temptation great enough for him to ever consider putting those he loved in harm's way. Ever. But harm someone dear to Sirius, and nothing would save them.  
  
It was what made him Voldemort's eternal enemy. Sirius had understood Voldemort's evil as an Aurorer, but to experience it firsthand… People had been terrified of Sirius that fateful Halloween, and they had every right to be. It was the night he lost too many friends, saw too much tragedy. It was the night he found James and Lily's bodies, and heard Harry's cries. It was the night a man he considered one of his dearest friends betrayed them all. And it was the night he realized how wrong he'd been to doubt Remus. Why had he done it? Sirius still wondered. What had been Wormtail's price?  
  
"The Dursley's," he whispered fiercely as he threw the floo powder into the fireplace, and stepped through, leaving the slumbering Weasley home behind. His eyes glittered dangerously in the firelight as he surveyed the pristine living room, and he knew his mouth was contorted into a snarl. The home looked so innocent, so… normal. All Sirius could hear was the soft ticking of a grandfather clock, likely in the den, and the faint bellows of Vernon Dursley's snores. Sirius didn't miss the irony of how completely abnormal the Dursley's own behavior was in regards to Harry. They were so fixated; they had no idea how far off their own rockers they were. Sirius wrapped Harry's cloak around himself and crept up the stairs to the bedrooms, adeptly avoiding the creaking boards with skills earned from years of practice.  
  
His godson had lost everything that fateful Halloween. And Sirius understood the ramifications of Harry's injuries. They did not indicate a bad summer, despite what Harry said. They spoke of years of abuse. Sirius had spent a great deal of time replaying conversations with his godson as Harry had been fitfully sleeping on the Weasley's couch. There had been so many clues. Sirius was shocked no one had seen it before. Ron had spoken candidly with Sirius about some of the few things Harry ever spoke about. Ron and Hermione both had known that correspondence with Harry was sometimes impossible over the summer, and that even doing required homework was difficult. Each year Harry arrived from holiday pale and sickly. They both noted Harry's ravenous appetite after the Sorting Ceremony, and how little he actually ate before becoming full. Sirius had to suppress what he knew would come out as a growl in the back of his throat. His darker tendencies would get a chance to play tonight…  
  
*************************  
  
Vernon Dursley had been dreaming of lawn mowers. Giant lawn mowers had grown teeth and were trying to eat his slippers. He'd run inside his home to hide only to find Edgar, his pompous boss, snogging Petunia. Breathless, they both leaped apart and fidgeted in embarrassment, trying to straighten their clothes.  
  
"How could you, Pet?!" he'd wailed in dismay, using the nickname he normally reserved for more 'intimate' moments. Not that they happened often anymore anyway.  
  
"Don't be foolish, Vernon. Harry's gone off to jump into milkshakes, and Dudley's shooting a commercial for Puppy Chow. I was bored!" she replied snappishly.  
  
Vernon had rushed Edgar, planning on landing a meaty punch on the man's jaw, when he lost his footing and fell. Looking down, Vernon thought he would land on a glass table that wasn't *really* in the house. He closed his eyes as he knew the sizeable collision of his body and the table would hurt, but he didn't feel himself impact the glass. Instead, he felt his back jerk and realized he had just awoken from a dream. He was lying on his stomach, his face buried in his pillow. In fact, it had almost seemed as if he'd landed onto the bed from the dream, for Vernon could have sworn he bounced as he woke up.  
  
Vernon paused, considering how odd falling dreams were, when he realized how silent the house was. Why had he woken up? There was something missing… What was it? Vernon flipped over onto his back, staring at the ceiling in the darkened bedroom. Petunia's grandfather clock had stopped ticking. Vernon felt relief wash through him.  
  
He hadn't realized it, but his heart had started to pound. 'That was it!' he thought with relief. 'She's forgotten to wind the clock!' Sighing, Vernon closed his eyes. The house was so much more peaceful now that *he* was gone. Vernon had been furious at the time, and even a little terrified that *someone* would find out what he'd done… what they'd all done. But no one came. No one ever did.  
  
For all that the boy seemed to love *that* world, they certainly paid him no heed. Vernon smiled at the thought. After all, they sent him back each summer… because no one wanted him. For four years now, Vernon had prayed for the boy to never come back. Once he'd gotten over the initial shock and rage that *they* had forced themselves into his life, his family's life, and insisted that the boy leave for school, Vernon had come to a realization.  
  
The boy might never come back. Vernon had no idea where he went, and he certainly never cared. As long as no police arrived at their door, it was much better for the boy to vanish without a trace than to be hidden away in a cupboard. In a cupboard, a neighbor or business client might hear the boy, or see him. But to vanish… there were a lot of possibilities in that.  
  
Vernon had wished desperately for years now for the boy to leave for school in September and just not show up again. They'd show up at the station to pick him up, fulfilling that peculiar obligation Petunia felt towards her parents to house their grandson, and find no one there. They'd wait for an hour or so before shrugging and leaving. Vernon imagined himself putting an arm around his son's shoulders and offering to take them all to ice cream. It was a beautiful dream.  
  
Personally, Vernon wished nothing but misery on the boy who'd wrecked his happy home. It seemed his wish had been granted this year. When they'd gone to pick him up at the train station, Vernon had seen something different in him then… A sadness, a loss. He knew that something awful had happened. Something had hurt the boy, and *those people* were still sending the boy home with him. He smiled cruelly at the thought. He could do whatever he wanted. Where was the boy's precious godfather now?  
  
Listening to the eerie silence left by the still clock, Vernon knew what he did was wrong. He knew it with every fiber of his being. And he knew, just as equally, that he could never admit it, never acknowledge it, and *never* stop doing it. He hated that boy so badly. He felt his lips curl into a sneer at just the thought of that freak. His hand itched to hit him. If the boy hadn't disappeared, Vernon probably would have gotten up at that very moment, stormed into the room, and found a way to punish him. He hated him and what he'd done to Vernon's perfect family. For what he'd done to Petunia. She'd been so happy when he'd married her. After Dudley was born, she'd positively glowed. But the spark had gone out on that fateful morning when she'd found *him* on the doorstep. She'd known then, as had Vernon, that their cozy life had ended…  
  
Abruptly, Vernon felt an immense pressure against his mouth. His eyes had adjusted to the night, and it was evident there was nothing in front of him. Trying to breathe, Vernon began to kick in bed frantically, desperate to wake up Petunia. He thought he might be having a heart attack because he couldn't breathe, couldn't move, as if he were pinned. His chest didn't hurt though. A sharp prick against his neck stilled Vernon in an instant. He could feel a trickle of blood slide down his neck, and warm breathe against his cheek. It felt like the blade of a knife. But no one was there!  
  
"Vernon Dursley, did you not believe I existed?" a voice hissed in Vernon's ear. Nearly squealing in panic, Vernon tried to heave himself up. *He* was there, the godfather! It had to be! But Vernon couldn't *see* anyone. It was as if a ghost were attacking him. He didn't even know what to reach for. All he could see in the faint street lit glow of the bedroom was his ceiling, the mirror closet across the bed, and the image of he and his wife upon it. His eyes were wide and terrified; Petunia's face was buried underneath her blanket. He was struggled against nothing, and yet his screams were clearly muffled, and Vernon realized he could see faintly the blade of a knife floating at his neck. The knife began to press deeper and Vernon stilled for fear of pushing the edge too deep. He ceased his screams. It was amazing what Petunia could sleep through.  
  
"I've killed, you know. Did you not believe my godson's threats?" the voice asked. It had a deep sound, gravelly… dangerous. Vernon, eyes huge, shook his head. He hadn't. He watched himself shake his head 'no' in the closet mirror. The knife shifted at his throat, as if the holder was adjusting to get a better grip.  
  
Petunia began to snore a little, adding to the unreality as Vernon stared at his own terrified reflection. There was no one else there. Petunia shifted a little, snorting briefly before falling back into her familiar breathing pattern. She might end up snoring away next to a corpse. Or perhaps she would be next to him, eyes unseeing, side by side… Was the boy's godfather a ghost? *He* had never mentioned that. But Vernon had never heard of ghosts doing *this*.  
  
"I've seen what you've done. You all did things, didn't you?" the voice demanded, and Vernon knew it was useless to lie. The truth was already known. He nodded slowly. The voice snarled next to Vernon's ear.  
  
"He's a child. Defenseless. An innocent who has lost everything. And despite it all, despite *you*, he's kind and loving and strong. And you, Vernon Dursley, so innocent in sleep. So unprotected. You can't hide. There is no place on this earth you can hide. And if Harry dies… I promise you, all of you will be begging for his forgiveness before the end," the voice said, then abruptly the pressure was released from his mouth, and the knife against his neck removed.  
  
Vernon leaped out of bed in an instant, turning on the bedroom light and looking around the room. Nothing. There was no one there besides his still oblivious wife. Desperately, he raced out the bedroom door and into Dudley's room. Dudley was sound asleep, sprawled over top of part of his teddy bear, sheets tangled around him, pillow flung off the bed. He snored too, though not as loudly as Petunia. He was fine. Vernon quickly left Dudley's bedroom and began to systematically check each room, one at a time, until he felt safer. He'd never seen his attacker, yet there was no question the boy's godfather had been there. Vernon's neck still stung at the nick.  
  
Finally, Vernon felt reasonably sure nothing else was going to happen, at least that night, and returned to his bedroom. He shut the door behind him and after a few moments of debate finally gave in to the urge to check in the closet and under the bed, maneuvering awkwardly as his large frame couldn't bend too far forward. Seeing nothing, he returned to his side of the bed. Maybe it had all been a dream? No, the pain in his neck told him it was not. Pulling back the sheets to slide back into bed, Vernon froze as he stared at the knife that had been set on his pillow. He picked it up frantically and held it in front of him, turning around desperately as he began to sob, waving it and blindly slashing at the air in front of him. A bright spot of blood, his blood, marred his white pillow case. There was no where to hide…  
  
**********************************  
  
Sirius stood at the Dursley's fireplace, listening to Vernon's sobs, Harry's invisibility cloak draped over his arm. Loop holes. Sirius had realized a way to perform unusual magic in the Dursley home without setting off any wards. Objects that were innately magical, such as wizarding photos, the sneakoscope, and Harry's invisibility cloak still worked fine within the confines of 4 Privet Drive. Because these objects were always magical, and always active, they could be used indiscriminately. The wards adjusted to their presence.  
  
Sirius knew how terrified Harry had been at the thought of being caught using any magic while with the Dursleys. There were few things more horrifying at the time than the idea of being expelled from Hogwarts, the only place Harry had ever been accepted. No one had ever told Harry he could have used the cloak at any time… And now, being expelled from Hogwarts was the least of his worries. Sirius felt the tears well up and shook his head in frustration. He felt queasy standing in *their* living room. They disgusted him.  
  
He'd expected to feel so much better, but he hadn't. All he could think of was how he should really be with Harry. Harry needed him, and here Sirius was, leaving him alone yet again. He might have another nightmare, and Sirius certainly didn't want him to wake up alone. Those nightmares…  
  
Sirius knew the look in Harry's eyes, even as he'd tried to smile and reassure his godfather. Sirius knew what it meant. He'd seen it many times, though never in anyone as young as Harry. Sirius knew he had that look. He convulsively shuddered as he remembered where he had seen even worse; the final stage… in the unseeing eyes of the dead as they'd been dragged through the halls of Azkaban, their mouths still open in now thankfully silent screams. Eyes that had seen too much loss, pain and suffering.  
  
He thought of how badly hurt and skinny Harry was, and muttered the words to ignite the fire. He gathered the floo powder in his hand. Revenge was never as sweet as it should be, and he was spending precious time away from his beloved godson. It was time to go home to Harry. 


	6. Visions of the Present

Nicky: Thanks again so much! Great suggestions! 8-)  
  
Lady of Arundel, vmr, Kat, aleema_darkose, venus4280, Lindsay, Phoenix, velondra, tsuki tatsu, LauraBlade: Thank you all for your kind reviews and input! I'm glad you like it!  
  
Sou: Wow, thank you very much!  
  
Aly Teima: I'm glad you liked Vernon's POV, too. That was hard.  
  
Kate the Great: Yeah, I thought that since Voldemort is back and has been aggressively attacking all summer that Harry's scar might react differently.  
  
Ratgirl: Here you go…  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 6  
  
Swirling shades of black and grey pressed against Harry's face, whispering softly into his ears. Nearly tangible wisps of fingers caressed the sides of his cheeks.  
  
"Harry," the faceless voices breathed softly in his ear. "Avenge us," they begged, their voices rising in a chorus of rage and grief. Soon their howls became painful to hear. Harry clutched his hands to his ears, but he couldn't dampen the sound. Desperately he began to shout as well, begging them to be quiet. He didn't know how to help them! He may be The Boy Who Lived, but he certainly didn't know how, or if he could even do it again! Abruptly there was silence, and Harry blinked as his eyes adjusted to sudden light. He could see too much.  
  
He stood in the corner of a tiny living room. It didn't have many windows or lights, but still managed to feel comfortable and homey. A knitted afghan in a variety of bawdy colors lay spread over a threadbare brown couch. A floor lamp beside it had a sheer red scarf with blood red fringe draped over the lamp shade, softening the light that illuminated the room. A dark wood coffee table in the middle of the room lay in pieces on the floor, two legs snapped outward and the center broken jaggedly in half, as if it had encountered a weight far too heavy for it and had collapsed in on itself. A dinner tray with broken pieces of china and spilt tea darkened part of the worn rug underneath.  
  
An older woman lay on the floor gasping for breath. She had long silver hair that must have been twisted in a bun before, but now it hung in a loosely tangled mess about her shoulders. Her eyes were clenched shut in pain, but she wasn't unconscious. Wizarding photos were abundant on the shelves surrounding the room, which were also filled with books, an astounding array of trinkets and muggle photos. Several wizarding photos must have been on display on the coffee table, for now they lay beside the old woman on the ground. Smiling faces oblivious to the events unfolding beside them waved happily up at Harry and the woman's attacker.  
  
An upturned lazy-boy recliner lay in a distant corner, probably where the woman had been sitting when they'd stormed the room. A basket filled with brightly colored yarns laid overturned, balls of string partially unwound like a colorful spider web. The room was eerily silent; the only sound the woman's harsh breath.  
  
It wasn't just the Deatheaters that had attacked this place. It was Voldemort himself who stood above the woman. Harry didn't know who else had been in the house, but suddenly distant screams, followed by cruel laughter told him the old woman hadn't been alone.  
  
Who else was there? Tears spilled out of the woman's eyes and her body shuddered with suppressed sobs as she listened to the cries down the hall. It was a man's voice. Harry wanted to sit next to the old woman, to hold her, to rush Voldemort, to attack the Deatheaters in the other rooms, to do something. Anything.  
  
How many were in the small home? Who else was with her? Harry tried to surge forward, tried to reach for his wand, but of course it wasn't there. It never was. He wasn't there, and yet he was.  
  
"Crucio," Voldemort said with quiet satisfaction, and as the woman arched painfully backwards she cried out in agony, Harry felt the curse surge through his scar and course through his body as well. His limbs felt like fire and glass pumped through his veins instead of blood.  
  
When it hurt like this it took all of Harry's willpower not to let blackness overcome him. He knew if it did, he couldn't wake up and he'd be forced to stay and witness it all. He'd see what happened to this poor woman and whoever else was in the quaint little cottage. He couldn't bear to stay. Not again. She looked so grandmotherly. Gasping for breath himself, knowing that he was sobbing in pain, he lay on the floor beside her, wishing he were anywhere but there. Wishing she and her companion were as well.  
  
"Crucio," Voldemort said again after just a moment's pause. He didn't ask questions. He wasn't searching for anything. What he wanted… he had. A bit of entertainment for the night. Harry felt his insides writhing and spasming with her, and the screams he'd tried to hold back broke free nonetheless. How could he help her? He couldn't even help himself. What chance did he have against this?  
  
Eventually the pain began to dim, and Harry realized the spell had stopped. Voldemort stepped closer, leering over the woman with his red eyes soaking up her pain, his fingers idly twisting the wand in his hand. Voldemort had a faint smile of pleasure on his face, and it made Harry feel nauseous and unclean, an unwitting participant in this obscenity.  
  
Harry knew he couldn't take much more. He turned his eyes away from the monster above him and looked at the woman beside him. He realized he lay nose to nose with her. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and her breath now rattled liquidly. Blearily the old woman opened her eyes, widening them as she almost seemed to see Harry. The screams in the other room had ceased, and excited voices were heading back towards the living room. Whoever had been there was most likely dead. Harry felt himself drawn into the woman's pale blue eyes, bloodshot and glazed with pain.  
  
"Oh, child," she whispered, so faintly that no one besides Harry heard. "Wake up."  
  
Harry's eyes flew wide open as he felt hands on his shoulders and his face. His palms stung, but his fists couldn't clench as Harry realized Remus Lupin's hand was in his. Mrs. Weasley stroked Harry's forehead, brushing the hair back as she tried to wake him up with soothing words, as if Ron weren't screaming beside her.  
  
"Harry, wake up!" Ron yelled frantically, shaking his friend fiercely, no longer concerned with Harry's injuries, desperate to end his dream.  
  
Harry tried to lean forward. He had to get away, run away. The pain still echoed through his limbs and hands held him down. His mind began to register what he saw and heard. He was back at the Burrow with the Weasleys. Sirius and Remus Lupin were there. Harry looked around for a moment. Where was Sirius? Was he okay? Harry felt his eyes roll in his head as he tried to catch his breath and still his wildly beating heart. He was at the Burrow. He was safe…  
  
Harry saw the woman's eyes behind his own closed lids and suppressed a sob. His scar still burned, although not nearly as bad as earlier. This was it then. This was the end. The woman could not survive another wave of the Cruciatus Curse. Abruptly, the pain in Harry's scar ceased. Harry stopped struggling as he felt grief envelope him. Hands stilled around him as everyone in the room waited to see what would happen next. Harry didn't move as he fought with emotions that would overwhelm him completely if he didn't try to calm himself, distance himself from what he'd seen. She'd looked so gentle…  
  
"Harry?" Ron asked tentatively. His friends… Hold on to that thought! He tried to make his mouth form words, but found he didn't seem to have much of a voice.  
  
"Ron," Harry rasped wearily. Remus squeezed Harry's hand reassuringly, and Mrs. Weasley sobbed as she kissed Harry's forehead.  
  
"Welcome back, Harry," she whispered, still caressing his forehead. Ron released Harry's shoulders abruptly, sighing in relief. Harry flinched as his ribs sent flashes of pain in his efforts to regain control of his breathing. He tried to open his eyes again. Glasses were slipped on his face with ease. Ron or Mrs. Weasley must have put them on, Harry realized. His eyelids fluttered open, and Harry swallowed as he focused on the room. He was in Ron's room. He didn't remember going there. Someone must have carried him. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were there, as well as Ron and Remus. Where was Sirius?  
  
"Ron, where's Sirius?" Harry asked in sudden concern. Ron frowned, and Harry started as he saw a dark look cross Professor Lupin's face.  
  
"I…" Ron tried to reply.  
  
"I'm right here, Harry," Sirius said and Harry sighed in relief as he realized that at least the Weasleys, Remus and Sirius were safe. Sirius strode into the room carrying a small blue vial which he sat on the nightstand next to Harry's bed and kneeled beside him.  
  
Harry noted the expression on Professor Lupin's face and the unspoken exchange that seemed to pass between Sirius and Remus, then his eyelids fluttered shut.  
  
"Harry?" Professor Lupin asked.  
  
"Yes, Professor?" Harry replied weakly, already feeling himself falling back into oblivion. Terror forced his eyes back open. He was not going back to sleep!  
  
"Harry, please call me Remus," he said warmly. Harry smiled wistfully and nodded faintly, wrapping himself in the normalcy of life at the Burrow. Nothing bad was happening there. He was no longer with the Dursley's. Mrs. Weasley was still brushing Harry's hair off his forehead tenderly. Harry marveled at her soft touch. Her fingertips felt cool against his hot skin, and he was so grateful to have those small gestures of comforts that a lump formed in his throat as he thought of the older woman in the cottage. He didn't even know her name.  
  
"Harry, how do you feel?" Professor Lu…Remus asked. Harry suppressed the urge to scream and cry and rant. That's what he wanted to do. There was one lesson he seemed destined to learn over and over again, and it was the lesson of powerlessness. It made him want to break things and curl into a ball and beg for it to end.  
  
"My scar's not hurting as bad. My ribs hurt, and…" Harry said, trying to assess without alarming everyone. He knew he wasn't doing well. His hands trembled violently in Remus', and Harry now knew that he'd ripped his palms up with his own fingernails, digging them into his skin as he'd balled them into tightly clenched fists. At least she wasn't feeling pain anymore.  
  
"Yes?" Remus prompted.  
  
"It burns... Under my skin," Harry whispered, reluctant to admit it. Sirius sucked in a breath loudly as his blue eyes searched Harry's barely focused green ones. Harry felt tears slip down his cheeks, but his heart seemed to ache too much to sob. The tears seemed to fall on their own, completely autonomous from anything Harry intended.  
  
He closed his eyes wearily, then willed them open again. No one was asking about the dream, and for that Harry was profoundly grateful. He couldn't recount it. Not yet. Maybe in the light of day, with the sounds of the twins infuriating Mrs. Weasley. He might be able to write it down for Dumbledore with Ron and Hermione's banter nearby as they played chess, or talked about something Hermione read in a book somewhere.  
  
"You need to rest, Harry," Sirius said gently, his face next to Harry's, his presence a comforting warmth against Harry's still trembling body. His teeth rattled and his ribs ached. Remus squeezed Harry's hand, another reassurance that Harry welcomed.  
  
"I want to, but… I can't," Harry admitted. Ron put a hand gently on Harry's shoulder, and Harry smiled weakly at him. "I just don't want to dream anymore," Harry whispered wearily. The expressions on Sirius' and Remus' faces seemed inscrutable. Mr. Weasley, who stood beside Harry but had kept his distance, allowing Ron and the others better access to Harry, tightened his lips in unspoken sympathy. He wouldn't want to, either, his expression said.  
  
"I brought some Dreamless Sleep potion with me, Harry. No more dreams tonight," Sirius said, and unstopped the vial he'd placed on the nightstand. Sirius tried to hand it to Harry, but changed his mind and curled his fingers against the back of Harry's neck, gently lifting his head off the pillow to allow for him to swallow comfortably.  
  
"Drink it all, Harry," Sirius said, and Harry did, grateful for the warm, peaceful oblivion that enveloped him before his head could even be lowered back on to the bed. He smothered the small voice in the back of his head that whispered how nice it would be if he didn't wake up. Then all thoughts drifted away meaninglessly, and Harry softly sighed with relief. 


	7. Temporary Solutions

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Darn it!  
  
Nicky: Thanks again for the input. Took your suggestions! 8-)  
  
Kate the Great, velondra, Lily Potter, Phoenix, and Rannchan: Thank you all for reviewing the previous chapter. I'm glad you liked it.  
  
Author's Note: A warning to fanfiction posters everywhere. Reviews are addictive! First you're pleased for your first review (Thanks again Lady of Arundel!). Next thing you know you're looking for milestones (They start at ten, but it's easy to get greedy from there). Pretty soon you're peeking at your review number at work. (Anything? Anyone? Bueller?) You know you're too far gone when you've memorized the shortcut keys to take you from your work screen to your internet connection. It was subtle at first, but I've finally acknowledged the signs… My name is Bored Beyond Belief and I'm a reviewaholic! So give a break to a hopeless addict, okay? And if not, I hope you at least enjoy the story! G  
  
On with the show…  
  
  
  
Chapter 7  
  
  
  
Harry stirred in bed. He could hear muffled voices distantly, in another room, and breathing beside him. A cold nose nuzzled Harry's cheek and his eyes flew wide open in surprise. Turning his head, Harry gazed into Snuffles' warm, concerned eyes. Harry smiled as Snuffles shifted easily into Sirius.  
  
"Good morning," Sirius said with a big smile as he automatically set Harry's glasses on his nose.  
  
"Good morning," Harry said sleepily and yawned. He flinched, expecting the now familiar pain his ribs had brought him for many nights, but it didn't hurt. Taking a deep breath, Harry didn't even feel the urge to cough.  
  
"Better?" Sirius asked, watching his godson's reactions. Harry tentatively began to push himself up in bed. He hated the way his limbs always seemed to tremble lately, and saw Sirius note his shakiness as well. Sirius reached behind Harry and adjusted his pillows so Harry could sit up comfortably. Taking another deep breath, relishing the ability to do so, Harry nodded.  
  
"I feel a lot better now," Harry answered, beginning to vaguely remember being woken up to eat a few bites, drink some water and potion, and then falling back into dreamless sleep. He frowned. "How long was I asleep for?" he asked. Sirius smiled.  
  
"Three days," Sirius replied. Harry widened his eyes in surprise. Sirius nodded. "Madam Pomfrey decided it was worth it to keep feeding you potion for a while to stop your nightmares, at least until we can come up with a more permanent solution," he said.  
  
"A permanent solution?" Harry asked. He felt more rested now than he had in a long time, although still far too shaky. What was wrong with taking the potion?  
  
Upon seeing Harry's confused expression, Sirius sighed and elaborated reluctantly, "Dreamless Sleep potion is highly addictive. You'll only be able to take it for two more days before we have to find another option, at least for a week or so," Sirius replied.  
  
"Couldn't we stagger it? Potion one night, without the next?" Harry asked curiously, still half asleep and terrified of more dreams. He wasn't sure how much more he could face…  
  
"Sorry, no. It builds up in your body. It takes at least a week to flush it out of your system superficially, at least that's what Madam Pomfrey said. For long term use, you may even have to go longer between doses as it can settle in your organs and cause side affects," Sirius replied.  
  
"Side effects?" Harry asked.  
  
"Nothing to worry about now," Sirius replied. "We've just got to get those dreams under control," he said with emphasis.  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry said, feeling uncomfortable as memories of his previous nightmares came tumbling back.  
  
"Harry," Sirius said and grabbed Harry's shoulders, startling him. "Don't," he said firmly. "Don't think about it," he said again, and Harry realized he'd recognized Harry's expression. "Do you think you can walk?" he asked Harry with a faint smile. Ignoring the sweat that broke out on his forehead as he did so, Harry scooted himself to the side of the bed as Sirius pulled away his coverlets. He weakly swung his legs over the side and smiled.  
  
"I might need some help, but yes," Harry replied, suddenly anxious to be able to move around freely and without pain. It had been quite a while since he'd been able to do that. At the rate things were going with the Dursleys, Harry wouldn't be surprised if he came down with acute claustrophobia. Harry snorted, startling Sirius as he held out Ron's robe for Harry to put on, noticing Harry's chills.  
  
"What?" Sirius asked with a curious smile.  
  
"I was just thinking how nice it'll be not to be cooped up in my room," Harry said. He watched a variety of emotions flash across Sirius' face. It finally settled on concern.  
  
"You're not going back," Sirius said, looking deeply into Harry's eyes. Harry nodded.  
  
"I know. Dumbledore's got good enough protections now at the Burrow that I can stay here for the rest of the holiday," Harry said, frowning. He remembered that conversation. Sirius shook his head.  
  
"No. You're not *ever* going back," Sirius said. Harry stilled, so many emotions rolling through him at once that he didn't know what to feel.  
  
"What do you mean?" Harry asked quietly.  
  
"I mean that you'll either stay with the Weasleys or… when I'm freed… with me," Sirius said. Harry looked searchingly into his face, then closed his eyes as he felt the familiar sense of being a burden.  
  
"Harry!" Sirius said firmly and grabbed Harry by the arms. Harry gasped with pain, and Sirius' eyes widened in surprise. "What? What is it?" he asked Harry, who'd pulled his arm away forcefully.  
  
"Sorry," Harry whispered. "It's just never healed right," he said, tenderly cradling his arm to his chest. Sirius froze as he realized what Harry was talking about. Harry's right arm, at the crook of his elbow where Pettigrew had cut him. Harry missed the myriad of emotions that darkened Sirius' face before settling back to concern.  
  
"Pomfrey's potions didn't heal it?" Sirius asked, surprised and distracted from their previous conversation for a moment. Harry shook his head.  
  
"It's scarred over and everything, but it's tender to the touch and it seems to rip open easily," he said.  
  
"I didn't…" Sirius began, horrified that he'd accidentally reinjured Harry. Harry shook his head firmly.  
  
"No, it's fine. Just sensitive," he said with an attempt at a reassuring smile. Sirius sighed and noted that Harry was growing paler by the moment as he stood before Sirius. Without warning, Sirius scooped Harry up in his arms and reached out to grab a blanket from his bed. "Hey…" Harry protested.  
  
"Okay. There are some things that need to be discussed, but I'll keep it short because I know the rest of the Weasleys are anxious to see you. First of all, you are not a *burden*. You never have been. The fact that you think you are is just one more reason why you should have *never* had to stay with the Dursleys. You're a great kid with a huge heart. You're loving and kind and thoughtful. I cannot imagine what goes through your mind when you think of the *trouble* you'll be. Um, you have met the twins, right?" Sirius asked gently but with humor in his eyes. Harry smiled. Yes, he could imagine that to most adults they would be more of a handful than him. But Harry's smile faltered as he thought of the real fears he had staying with people he loved.  
  
"Sirius," Harry said hesitantly. "I… If I stay with you or Ron… I'm putting you in danger," he finished. Sirius shook his head and jumped at the voice behind him.  
  
"I'd like to apply some logic to that," Remus said from the doorway. He was leaning against the doorframe and looked to have caught at least part of their conversation. Harry watched him curiously as he entered the room, closing the door behind him. He walked up to Harry, who still lay cradled in Sirius' arms like a child. Remus tucked the blankets more snugly around Harry, who had to admit he was feeling quite cold.  
  
"Logic?" Sirius asked Remus with humor. Professor Lupin was clearly in the house.  
  
"You're Ron's friend, as well as the rest of the Weasleys'. You're Sirius' godson. These relationships put them in danger. But…" Remus said, raising a hand to interrupt whatever Harry was going to say as he opened his mouth.  
  
"The Weasleys are already adversaries of Voldemort. They always have been, and always will be. *That* also puts them in danger, whether they know you or not. Sirius here is also an enemy of Voldemort no matter what, as am I. We are and will be, until Voldemort is finally gone for good, in permanent danger," Remus said. Sirius watched Remus with raised eyebrows.  
  
"You are the only human being to have faced Voldemort and survived multiple times, true?" Remus said, and waited for Harry to nod. Harry was about to argue the semantics of that statement, but Remus raised his hand to stop him.  
  
"True or false, Harry?" Remus asked.  
  
"True," Harry muttered, clearly still wanting to argue.  
  
"So, don't you think it's better that you're here with them, to protect them? If someone attacks, you'll be able to do something about it instead of reading about it in The Daily Prophet the next day," Remus said. Harry looked at Remus with haunted eyes.  
  
"I couldn't protect Cedric," Harry said softly. Sirius made a choking sound and squeezed Harry tightly against him. Remus paled and his eyes widened. Harry didn't see the look the two men shared, but he did feel Sirius pull him close, allowing Harry to rest his head wearily against Sirius' chest. What could anyone say to that?  
  
"Is Harry awake yet? Oh!" Ron said as he burst into the room, seeing Harry in Sirius' arms and noting the intense expressions passing between the two older men. He frowned for a second then ginned as he saw Harry's eyes were open, peeking over Sirius' shoulder. "Good morning!" he said happily. Harry smiled gently back. Ron's enthusiasm was always contagious. "Well, what are you all standing around for? Mom says to come to breakfast," Ron said with a roll of his eyes.  
  
"Best not to anger the woman, Sirius," Remus chided gently.  
  
"There is absolutely no need to tell me twice," Sirius replied, and Harry suspected he was speaking from personal experience.  
  
As they traveled downstairs, Ron walked behind Harry and Sirius. "How are you feeling?" he asked his friend.  
  
"Better," Harry replied.  
  
"I hope you're hungry," Ron said.  
  
"Why?" Harry asked, knowing he really wasn't and not looking forward to being forced to stuff himself. Weeks ago he would have leapt at the chance to have a big meal with the Weasleys, but now… Food just didn't sound appealing at all. Ron must have read the look on Harry's face because he looked sympathetic.  
  
"Because I think mum's made it a personal cause to make you gain at least ten pounds. I overheard her talking to dad about it. She thinks you're so small because you're malnourished," Ron stated.  
  
Harry saw the look on Remus' face as he followed them downstairs. Apparently Mrs. Weasley wasn't the only one who thought that. Harry groaned inwardly.  
  
"What's the weather like outside today?" Harry asked, changing the topic abruptly.  
  
"It's perfect Quiddich weather. Sunny and warm. Why don't we go outside after breakfast?" Ron asked. Harry knew he was in no condition to fly a broom, or even walk more than a few feet at a time, but the idea of being outdoors sounded wonderful.  
  
There was a time that the Dursleys had used any excuse to keep him locked up or outside doing chores, but since last term he hadn't been outdoors more than a few times. Harry started as he realized Ron had continued to talk, and paid attention once again to his friends' chatter.  
  
"I'm going to send an owl to Hermione inviting her to stay with us until school starts," Ron said with a pleased smile. Harry felt a twinge of guilt, because it was most likely because of his health that they'd extended the invitation. Normally, they didn't meet up with Hermione until Diagon Alley just before school started.  
  
"Now don't go reading anything into that, Harry," Ron said with a frown, correctly reading Harry's silence. "Hermione's parents are going away for their fifteenth anniversary for a couple of weeks, and she was going to stay with an aunt. Mom found out about it and insisted she come here. Jeez, Harry, you're getting paranoid!" Ron said with a dramatic shake of the head.  
  
Harry blushed in embarrassment, realizing how vain his train of thought had been and glanced downstairs to see who else was stirring about. He missed the sigh of relief Remus breathed and the 'thumbs up' Sirius gave Ron along with a big grin. Ron positively glowed under the Marauder's silent praise, then restored his expression back to normal before Harry looked back again.  
  
Sirius wrapped the blankets around Harry a little tighter when he felt his trembling increase, and Harry closed his eyes for a moment, bracing himself for the barely contained riot which was the Weasley family, both eager to see them yet dreading it at the same time. Their company would be a welcome distraction. Anything to keep his mind off of the woman's last words which still echoed in his head. "Oh child, wake up," she'd said. He wished he could, and that it had all been a nightmare. Not his friends or Hogwarts, but Voldemort… He'd happily leave Voldemort behind. 


	8. Don't even think about it!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but wish I did. I'm just borrowing him for a while to get my fix while I anxiously await the next book. I'm not making any money at it either, darn it!  
  
Nicky: As always, thanks so much for everything!!! Your input, enthusiasm, and gifted grammer skills (as well as your great eye for HP details) have kept me honest and happy (and there's nothing better than a happy writer… despite what everyone says!g)!  
  
Kate the Great, Velondra, Phoenix, Rannchan, Lady of Arundel, prongsjr, vmr, Harriet, Kaydee, tsuki tatsu, kay, Gaby, Otaku freak, Hyper Princess, venus4280, Mediterranean Queen, lilahp, and Tanya: Thank you all SO MUCH for reviewing! I am so glad you're enjoying my story. It's terrific to get this kind of feedback, and has been a boost to my own confidence level as far as writing is concerned. It means a lot to me, so thanks again!  
  
Lady Foxfire: Believe it or not, she's very significant, even though she makes such a short (and tragic appearance). 8-)  
  
Lilly Potter: Sure, I think that would be nice. Thanks for the compliment!  
  
Well, as always, hope you enjoy!  
  
  
  
Chapter 8  
  
  
  
Sirius watched as Harry rested wearily against an old oak tree next to a stream that ran through the Weasleys' backyard. The morning sun sparkled in the running water and the dancing lights reflected merrily back at Sirius. Harry seemed to relax a bit as he sat with Ron, his untamable black hair a stark contrast against the teal blanket wrapped snugly to help with the chills that had plagued him since he woke up.  
  
Ron and Harry had been out back since breakfast, playing chess. Sirius had been waiting impatiently in the bushes nearby since Percy's arrival, furious at the unwelcome reminder that he still couldn't provide a decent home for Harry.  
  
'But it won't always be this way,' Sirius promised himself silently.  
  
Arthur had warned Sirius the night before that Percy would be coming by, undoubtedly sent by the Ministry. Arthur had sadly admitted that, as much as he loved Percy, he didn't trust his judgment about matters concerning the Ministry, and that he certainly couldn't trust him with the truth of Sirius' innocence. That was more than enough warning for Sirius.  
  
It had been odd to watch Percy kneel next to Ron and Harry. Sirius, in his Animagus form, had heard clearly their conversation. Percy had tried to get Harry to open up, but although he seemed genuinely concerned about Harry's health, the questions he asked had been foolish ones and clearly not his own. Had Harry been sure it was the Dursleys who had hit him? Why hadn't Harry written anyone? Why hadn't Harry told anyone about the abuse?  
  
Sirius' hackles were raised and he had to suppress growls at the questions, but Harry had been patient with Percy. As the questions progressed, though, Harry's silences grew longer, his voice softer and his eyes more distant. Percy fidgeted uncomfortably and began to squirm as Ron's fierce glare intensified with each question. After one particularly long silence, Percy cleared his throat.  
  
"Gathered enough information for your precious superiors?" Ron hissed, surprising both Harry and Percy with his venom.  
  
"What?" Percy spluttered. Sirius watched as Harry seemed to quietly withdraw even further into himself.  
  
"I thought you cared more for Harry than this," Ron said with narrowed eyes. Sirius cringed as he watched Harry's eyes unfocus. He was still there, but clearly some sort of barrier had been erected.  
  
'Is it to protect you from Percy, or Ron?' Sirius wondered. Ron certainly was intimidating when he wanted to be. No wonder Harry had been so distraught during the tournament when Ron had been jealous of Harry's nomination and subsequent participation. He certainly didn't pull any punches.  
  
"I do care!," Percy protested, standing up and backing away. Ron sprung up after him, pushing his forefinger into Percy's chest to emphasize his points.  
  
"Right, then. 'Harry, are you *sure* it was the Dursleys who hit you?'" Ron asked in a mocking imitation of Percy. Then his voice grew soft and thoughtful.  
  
"Don't know, there, Percy. It was dark… *sometimes*… *at night*. It didn't happen often… *every day for over a month!*…It could have been a disguise… *Death Eaters dressed as the Dursleys!*" Ron said with a fierce snort. "What kind of questions are those?!" Ron asked in a rage.  
  
Percy gave up backing away and was now jogging toward the house, his face contorted in rage and humiliation at Ron's brutal assault. Sirius watched Percy leave, satisfied with Ron's attack, and quickly sat beside Harry as Snuffles, deciding it was worth the risk. Besides, it was also highly unlikely Percy would approach Harry again anytime soon. Not with Ron around. 'Snuffles' whined softly and lay beside Harry, placing his head on Harry's lap.  
  
"Shhh," Harry said absently, stroking Snuffles' head. Sirius realized with a start that Harry was unconsciously trying to comfort him. Harry's eyes still had a frighteningly distant look to them. His hands continued to tremble badly as he ran his fingers through Snuffles' fur. Absently Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his other hand against his forehead. It was an unguarded moment, and Sirius clearly saw the pain Harry still felt from his scar. Wishing he could say something, or talk to his godson, Sirius watched Harry for a moment. Harry's grimace disappeared as he opened his eyes and saw Sirius' concern.  
  
"It's okay, Snuffles. I'm just a little tired," Harry said reassuringly. Sirius watched as Ron turned back toward where Harry sat, his rage already draining from his face. He looked at Harry and smiled cheerfully. The mercurial redhead wiped his hands on his robe and shrugged as he headed back to the stream, his steps jaunty again.  
  
"You're probably okay here, but keep a lookout just in case," Ron instructed Snuffles conspiratorially and made a 'ooomph' sound as he dropped onto the hard earth beside Harry. Sirius remained where he was, with Harry's hand wrapped in his fur, and felt as the tremors began to ease. Turning his head, he saw Harry's eyes had begun to droop. Ron saw it as well and smiled slightly at Sirius. He picked up one of the school books he'd sat next to his chess set and began to read. Sirius watched Harry struggle to stay awake, the play of emotions across his face a clear indication of his reluctance to sleep. Finally Harry's head lolled forward, and Sirius decided he should let him rest rather than try to position him more comfortably.  
  
Watching the gentle rise and fall of Harry's chest as he slept, Sirius remembered how Harry's hands had trembled at breakfast, bad enough that he had difficulty holding his fork and knife. Sirius had desperately wanted to intervene, and it was clear everyone else in the room did as well. Breakfast had consisted of lots of covert looks as Harry ate slowly and with difficulty. He hadn't eaten much either, which made Molly nearly apoplectic with concern.  
  
At first Sirius had thought it was a cummulation of events that caused Harry's tremors and chills, but the more he watched Harry the more he realized that *these* were some of the symptoms Madam Pomfrey talked about. This was just a sampling of what his connection to Voldemort was doing to his body.  
  
Harry dozed for nearly an hour after Percy had gone inside. Even in sleep Harry's face couldn't relax, and eventually he woke with a start, his head snapping back so quickly that Sirius jumped up, poised to spring for the bushes, thinking Percy had returned. Realizing Percy was no where to be found, Sirius returned to Harry's side and nuzzled Harry playfully, trying to distract him. He flopped dramatically on his back, legs sprawled up in the air and tongue dangling out of the side of his mouth. He nearly danced in joy as a sliver of a smile crossed Harry's face while he scratched Snuffles' chest.  
  
"There's something kind of obscene when you do that," Remus told Sirius with a smirk as he approached them. He'd been with Arthur and Percy for a while, but appeared to have eventually extricated himself. Sirius wagged his tail and pulled his teeth back to reveal his own version of a canine smile.  
  
"There's something I'd like to talk to you about," Remus said to Sirius after a moment, and Sirius righted himself, licking Harry messily on the side of his face, his gait bouncy as he heard Harry splutter indignantly behind him.  
  
"Gross!" Harry said. Ron snickered.  
  
Sirius followed Remus until they were both sure Harry and Ron couldn't hear them. Remus' tone sounded far too serious. Remus turned solemn eyes to Snuffles.  
  
"Go ahead and stay as Snuffles for now. Percy's not left yet," he instructed. Sirius nodded, glancing back at Harry.  
  
Ron appeared to have talked Harry into another game of chess. Harry must have felt Sirius' concerned gaze, for he looked up and smiled reassuringly. Sirius sighed and settled down on his haunches, gazing up into Remus' tired face.  
  
"It's bad out there," Remus said softly. "The Ministry is in a panic. Fudge is frantic to find someone to blame these most recent murders on, because it *can't* be Voldemort," he said with a disgusted shake of his head. "He knows it's only a matter of time before these murders can't be hidden. Add to that Harry's fiasco at the Triwizard Tournament…" Remus continued, then paused to take a breath. Sirius knew he wasn't going to like this. "He's trying to push the Ministry into giving Harry Veritaserum and questioning him about Cedric's death."  
  
Sirius began to snarl and knew his hackles were raised. His eyes automatically turned to the house where Percy still remained, and he might have done something rash had Remus not grabbed Snuffles by the scruff of his neck and held him in place. Remus' grip brooked for no argument. The werewolf was stronger by far. Sirius sat again, sighing as he stuffed down his rage. Besides, it wasn't Percy's fault.  
  
'Although,' Sirius amended silently, 'after the asinine questions he's asked Harry, I wouldn't mind giving him at least a little scare.'  
  
"Arthur is setting him straight for the moment, Sirius, but each day Fudge's grip on the Ministry is getting tighter. As cruel and inappropriate as it sounds, this questioning may still happen," Remus said quietly. "And if it does, Aurors will be coming to question Harry," he continued.  
  
Now alarms shrieked in Sirius' head as he stood up, whining frantically. He couldn't let them get a hold of Harry. Once he was in their hands… He didn't even want to *think* about the things that might happen. Dealings with the Ministry of Magic tended to snowball. Once they had their hooks in you, it was nearly impossible to break free.  
  
"He's The Boy Who Lived," Remus said, raising a hand as if to deflect some of Sirius' fear. "That provides a good amount of protection, Sirius. The public will not think kindly of Fudge questioning a fifteen year old boy with Veritaserum. Its side effects are much more brutal on adolescents than on adults," he continued.  
  
Sirius didn't have Remus' faith in 'the public'. He'd seen how quickly everyone had turned on Harry and Hermione during Rita Skeeter's infamous articles, and he had absolutely *no* confidence that Harry would be protected once he was in Fudge's hands.  
  
"I see you scheming," Remus said, breaking Sirius' concentration. "As much as I hate to admit it, we have few options at the moment. I know you just want to take him and hide, Sirius, and I completely understand. Under normal circumstances, I think I'd be suggesting it right now myself. But Harry's not healthy, and he needs potions and help only Dumbledore can provide. Voldemort is much stronger than he was before, and Harry's not safe. He *needs* to stay here for now. Give Arthur a chance," Remus said.  
  
Sirius wanted to tell Remus that it wasn't Arthur he doubted, it was Fudge. It seemed so few people had Harry's best interests at heart. After what he'd seen at the Dursleys', Sirius even had doubts about Dumbledore sometimes...  
  
"If they do force Harry to answer questions, Sirius, they'll also have to face his answers," Remus pointed out quietly. "Maybe Fudge won't be able to weasel his way out of Harry's testimony," he said. Sirius whined.  
  
'At what expense to Harry?' was Sirius' silent question to Remus. He pursed his lips and nodded. At what expense indeed.  
  
"Nothing's going to happen right now, Sirius. We've still got time… And maybe we'll even come up with some better options by then. But for now… I just wanted you to know," Remus said, his face dark. Sirius sat next to Remus silently, lost in his own thoughts. The tide could turn so easily in either direction. Sirius only hoped that Harry's luck would turn with it.  
  
Percy remained in the house for another couple of hours. His talks with his parents began to be interspersed with the sounds of explosions and Molly's enraged shrieks. Fred and George, much to Sirius' and Remus' amusement, had taken it upon themselves to *rush* Percy's visit along. Sirius' heart lifted a little as he heard Percy bellow in rage.  
  
'Nothing's happening today. We still have time,' he told himself and caught Harry's eye as he, too, listened to the activities going on inside the Burrow. Harry shook his head and exchanged a few words with Ron, a small smile on his face. Sirius hoped it wasn't wishful thinking that Harry's eyes seemed brighter and clearer than they had in days.  
  
Once Percy had finally left, Fred and George joined Ron and Harry, clearly trying to make him laugh. With an entire conversation passing in just a couple of expressions, the twins abruptly left the boys and tore past Sirius and Remus, heading for the house. Sirius soon realized the twins had decided it was high time to lighten the somber mood Percy had left everyone in.  
  
"Get the Wheezard Treats," Sirius heard Fred shout as he ran through the back door. Remus and Sirius exchanged nervous looks.  
  
'Actually, that could have been George,' Sirius amended. He knew they enjoyed dressing identically just to make things difficult.  
  
"Moody's Makeover will cheer him up!" George cried from inside the Burrow. Sirius cringed at the thought. He hoped it wasn't something that would remind Harry of what happened after the Triwizard Tournament, when they'd discovered Crouch…  
  
"Uh…" Sirius heard Remus say nervously and start to stand up, intending to go inside and make sure they did no such thing. Feet pounding heavily upstairs told him the twins were already out of earshot.  
  
"You will not inflict Moody's Makeover on Harry, George Weasley!" shrieked Molly in horror.  
  
'Yep, that was George,' Sirius thought. Thank Merlin Molly heard them. Moody was the last thing Harry needed to be reminded of. He had enough problems with the dreams connected to Voldemort as it was.  
  
"Sirius?" Remus asked thoughtfully as Sirius returned to human form, deciding the coast was clear. Remus folded his legs underneath him elegantly as he settled back down beside Sirius now that Molly had intervened on Harry's behalf.  
  
"The Bludger Basics Kit, George. Ron hasn't seen it yet! It'll be perfect! He won't know what hit him!" Fred called from upstairs, then the twins streaked past Sirius and Remus again and bounded for the unsuspecting Ron.  
  
'Poor Ron's going to learn of the Bludger Basics Kit soon enough,' Sirius thought, cringing in sympathy.  
  
"Yes?" Sirius asked, turning his attention back to Remus.  
  
"I really do think we still have time… But let's get some sort of escape plan in place for you in case those Aurors do show up," Remus said.  
  
"And let's not tell Harry about all this. I don't want to worry him unnecessarily," Sirius said. Remus nodded his agreement, and they both settled to witness the most recent antics of the twins.  
  
Sirius watched as Harry examined the latest prank inventions that the twins handed to him. He knew they wouldn't play any pranks on Harry, but nonetheless he watched them warily. Harry made appreciative comments and, a couple of times shot the twins a couple of warning looks directed towards Ron. This intrigued Sirius, and he made a mental note to ask about it later.  
  
A small breeze swept through the trees, ruffling Harry's hair. He pulled the blankets tighter around himself as if chilled. In unspoken agreement, Sirius and Remus both stood up. It was time to take Harry inside. The twins looked up at the approaching adults with an evil twinkle in their eyes.  
  
"Don't even think about it," Sirius growled with a raised eyebrow, and suppressed a smile as the threat succeeded in striking fear into the twins. Little did they know, any trick they played would be revisited upon them tenfold. It could be fun… Remus elbowed Sirius as if he'd read his mind.  
  
"Don't *you* think about it," Remus whispered. Sirius cast a subdued look his way, but it was clear Remus wasn't fooled. The twins had no idea what they'd be in for… 


	9. Pranks and Preparations

Disclaimer: Harry Potter. Still not mine… sigh  
  
Kate the Great: Yeah, you're right. I promise to work harder at deAmericanizing my dialogue. Heck, that's half the charm, isn't it? As for Sirius… Keep reading! Thanks for all your kind reviews! By the way, you get a prize as well for noticing the math for Hermione's parents anniversary… 8-)  
  
Japangirlcarley24: Blush Thank you very much!  
  
Venus4280: Thank you, I appreciate that. I like Percy's character. He doesn't strike me as cruel, just insecure and a bit clueless. I agree with the healing timeline. That's why I had the actual physical abuse itself healed with the potions. Of course they'd use it where they could, but I wanted to show that not everything can heal by the next day. More Ron on the way…  
  
Phoenix, Lynx, lothey, Sailor Sol, kaydee, Lady FoxFire, Harriet, and Tanya: Thank you SO MUCH for reviewing! I treasure all your input.  
  
Nicky: LOL! Kill Fudge! We should all be so lucky!  
  
Lilahp: You were my 100th reviewer!!! Yippee! Thank you so much! giggle  
  
Author's Note: Well, everyone seemed so excited by the Prank Wars, that I felt I had to commence. Hope you enjoy! Thanks again for reading!  
  
  
  
Chapter 9  
  
  
  
Hermione Granger only partially succeeded in looking dignified as she stepped out of the Weasleys' fireplace and into their living room, but as it was, she needn't have worried. She paused for a moment, brushing the soot off of her jeans, and looked around to view an intriguing sight. Remus Lupin was literally howling with laughter, barely supporting himself on the side of the couch with one trembling arm. The other was wrapped around his stomach.  
  
Fred and George were peeking out the kitchen door wearing equally satisfied expressions. Ron was laughing so hard he was snorting, and even Harry had a wide smile on his face as they all stared at the delicate looking miniature black poodle with blue eyes and a hot pink bow on top of it's head. It looked around in bewilderment, then growled as Professor Lupin finally toppled in fits of glee, resting his back against the side of the couch as tears streamed down his face. His hoots came out in struggling gasps.  
  
"I have to stop! I can't breathe!..." he wheezed. "I haven't laughed this hard in decades!"  
  
"Well done, old chap," Fred said in the doorway, only his head visible, making it appear as if it was hovering on its own, to George. George was further in the room, but held on to the doorframe as if he were ready to launch away should the dog choose to chase him.  
  
"Indeed, my dear Fred. Indeed," George said in the most dignified accent he could muster.  
  
"We'll have to rename you now, Padfoot. Perhaps Twinkle Toes would be more appropriate?" Remus asked, then fell completely on his side. "Oh! My side! I need a potion!" Lupin exclaimed, and the little poodle growled fiercely, then barked. Actually, he tried to bark, but it came out as more of a yipping sound. The dog paused and appeared shocked he'd made that noise. Hermione could have sworn he looked embarrassed, then turned on his heal and headed upstairs.  
  
Hermione took this moment to internalize what was going on. The twins had to have played a joke on Sirius, turning him into the aforementioned poodle. She felt her own confused smile broaden with the realization, watching Sirius' expression of disgust as he struggled to leap up each step due to its height compared to his own. Every now and again he'd glare between the wooden slats of the banister and growl. It was really a cute growl.  
  
"You blokes have blown it now!" Ron said as he watched Sirius depart. Fred and George now sauntered into the living room, still glowing with self- satisfaction.  
  
"I'm quaking. You'll protect me, won't you, Fred?" George asked, placing a trembling sleeve on Fred's shoulder.  
  
"Stand back, George. I'll save the day!" Fred cried, leaping up in the air and landing with his legs widely apart, one arm in front of him, palm facing forward. Hermione knew it from the movies as a typical hero's stance, but she had no idea where the twins could have picked it up.  
  
Lupin had finally stopped laughing and was sitting up again, wiping at the tears on his face and shaking his head, his face years younger with the grin he still held. "Oh, you laugh now, children, but you really should have heeded his warning," he said. Ron nodded, and finally turned his attention to the fireplace.  
  
"Hermione!" Ron said happily, and headed towards her. Harry had been lying on the couch Lupin now leaned against, propped up with pillows. Harry's head snapped in her direction and his face lit up into a smile as he too saw her.  
  
"Hey, Hermione!" Harry said, his eyes still twinkling from earlier. Hermione walked across the room and gave Harry a big hug. She took advantage of his shy surprise at the hug to assess her other best friend's condition.  
  
Harry had lost a great deal of weight. That much was obvious as she felt his shoulder blades sticking out painfully. He looked more like he did first year than he did last year, although his eyes, even bright with mirth, were shadowed and solemn. He had an old man's eyes peeking out of a young boy's face. His skin was cool and clammy to the touch, and she could feel the unsteadiness of his arms as he hugged her back. The paleness of his skin was stark contrast against his raven black hair. All in all, he didn't look good. As Hermione pulled away, Mrs. Weasley came into the room with her arms opened wide.  
  
"Hermione! Good to see you, child. How has your summer been?" she asked, bustling Hermione into a warm embrace of her own. Hermione and Ron locked eyes for a moment. She looked into his eyes for answers, and instead saw grave concern. He twisted his lips into a reassuring smile, but Hermione knew things were not well.  
  
"Fine, Mrs. Weasley. Mom and dad are off for a few weeks now. Dad threatened to renew their vows, so I'm looking forward to hearing what happens," Hermione said with a shake of the head. Her parents were still incurably romantic, and her dad liked to do silly, thoughtful things for no reason at all. Hermione remembered when her father had taken her, just her, to Paris when she was eight.  
  
"I wanted you to see the most romantic city in the world with a man who will always love you," he'd told Hermione solemnly as they stood at the base of the Eiffel Tower, straining to see the top. Hermione smiled at the misty look that Mrs. Weasley now wore on her face. Hermione suspected Mrs. Weasley had never met a wedding she didn't cry at.  
  
"That's just lovely," Mrs. Weasley exclaimed with a soft voice, then cleared her throat and glanced around at the remaining boys in the room (and Professor Lupin) and quickly bustled back into the kitchen. Hermione could have sworn she heard Mrs. Weasley muttering about wishing Ginny would return just to have three women in the Weasley household, even if for just a few weeks. She smiled and turned her attention back to her friends.  
  
Hermione gave Ron a quick hug (he fidgeted ridiculously, but she squeezed tight nonetheless), then walked over and kneeled beside Professor Lupin, hugging him fiercely.  
  
"Thank you so much, Professor," Hermione said with feeling. Professor Lupin blinked at the intensity, and she saw his eyes darken for a moment before he hugged her back.  
  
"Harry's lucky to have friends like you two," Professor Lupin replied. "Please, call me Remus," he amended and raised an eyebrow in irony. Hermione wondered how often he'd said that particular phrase recently.  
  
"I hope I get a hug like that, too," Sirius said from the stairs. Hermione laughed at Harry's godfather, who was coming down the stairs pulling a hot pink bow in annoyance out of his hair. In an instant, the twins shrieked with laughter and fled the house. "Run, but you can't hide," he muttered to no one in particular, and Hermione watched Harry shake his head.  
  
"They have no idea what they're in for," Harry said with a smile. "I guess I'll get to see that Marauder madness you're so famous for…"  
  
"I like not having to be the mature one," Sirius said, and glared as Remus snorted. "Okay, perhaps that was a poor choice of words," he amended.  
  
"Do you have your things?" Ron asked. Hermione nodded her head towards a trunk beside the fireplace. It had arrived minutes after she had.  
  
"It's a bit heavy," Hermione replied.  
  
"Not a problem," Remus replied, standing up and levitating her trunk behind him as he traveled upstairs. "Which room?" he asked.  
  
"Last room on the right," Ron called.  
  
"Where's Ginny?" Hermione asked curiously. She enjoyed Ginny's company, and found they had a lot more in common than Hermione originally had thought.  
  
"Mom is having her stay with Charlie for a few weeks," Ron said, a look on his face warning Hermione not to ask any further questions for the moment. She nodded faintly at the unspoken message and watched as Sirius and Remus gave each other wry looks as they passed on the stairs.  
  
"I miss the bow already," Remus muttered, his voice echoing down the hallway as he placed Hermione's trunk in Ginny's room. Sirius' eyes darkened at the final insult. "It was your color."  
  
"Watch it, Moony, or I may decide to include you in my retaliation simply because you enjoyed it entirely too much," Sirius called loudly. Harry snorted.  
  
"I've never seen him laugh so hard," Harry observed. Hermione noted how weak his voice still sounded, and suppressed a sigh. She dearly wanted to hex those monstrous Dursleys on sight.  
  
"Let the games begin," Hermione announced formally at Sirius' expression. She knew plotting when she saw it. A gauntlet had been thrown, and all eyes in the room turned to her with varying degrees of understanding. Harry knew her Muggle reference, of course. Perhaps Remus would as well. The others certainly understood the implications. Things were about to get interesting at the Weasley house.  
  
Remus returned downstairs and sat in the chair across from Harry, his long legs propped up on the coffee table. Hermione unconsciously glanced to see if Mrs. Weasley was nearby, for she would have a fit if she saw feet on the table. Remus must have seen the look, for he lifted his legs off and gave a shrug.  
  
'Hey, I'm a bachelor,' his expression seemed to say. 'Things like coasters and napkins and nutritional meals don't count in this equation.' Hermione rolled her eyes and looked significantly at Sirius. Remus barked a laugh, which he quickly covered with a cough behind his hand. Sirius appeared to not notice.  
  
"So when shall we tell them about the Marauders? Before or after?" Ron asked curiously.  
  
"After," Harry, Ron and Remus said in unison. Sirius snickered. Hermione laughed.  
  
*************************  
  
Harry finally drifted off to sleep after dinner. Ron took the opportunity to explain what had been happening since arriving at the Burrow. He'd been without the Dreamless Sleep potion now for five long days, and each night his dreams worsened. Ron explained how Harry couldn't take the potion every night, so he'd been forced to just work through it. That wasn't working smashingly well, needless to say.  
  
Madam Pomfrey was unsure if Harry's tremors and chills were due to his strange connection with You Know Who nearing full strength or his constant exposure to the Unforgivable Curses that You Know Who inflicted. Ron described in painfully vivid detail some of the times in the last week and a half he'd been forced to shake his friend awake, desperately calling his name and trying to break whatever hold You Know Who had on him.  
  
"Mum's dying to fatten him up," Ron said after a long, companionable silence.  
  
"Well, we can work on plumping him up a bit too," Hermione offered.  
  
"Do you think he even realizes it's his birthday tomorrow?" Ron asked after a moment. Hermione sighed.  
  
"I doubt it. But I gather that everyone is agreed that he *never* has to go back, right?" Hermione asked. Ron nodded. "So, from this birthday on, he'll get to celebrate the way he always should have," she stated firmly. Ron nodded.  
  
"I'm worried about him, Hermione," Ron said solemnly. "I always knew how dangerous things were, but… things changed horribly for Harry when Cedric died, and I can't for the life of me figure out how to help him through it," he said, startling Hermione with his candor and observation. She'd noticed much of the same thing herself, but would never have dreamed it possible for Ron to recognize that kind of… pain? Fracture? Whatever it was, it had changed Harry.  
  
"I am worried, too. Here's a good thought to go to bed on, though: Your mum will fatten him up, the twins will cheer him up, you and I will buck him up, and Sirius and Lupin will help give him what he's never had… a connection to his parents. It's enough, Ron," Hermione said encouragingly. "Come on, let's see how the rest of your family is doing," she said, and together they followed the laughing voices who were busy preparing for tomorrow's celebration. 


	10. Memories

Disclaimer: Still not mine… Still not paid… Wait. Could I get paid for this? Joking!!!  
  
Me, Lady Foxfire, Sailor Sol, Meryll, Sparks, TsukiTatsu (and Endriago Luna?), Anie, Jubei Potter, Lynx, Kate the Great, Kay, Kayla Summers, Harriet, lothey, Hyper Princess, Phoenix, The Serious One, prongsjr, and sherlock 2k: As always I am incredibly grateful for your kind words and feedback. Enjoy!  
  
Kaydee, and all of you who liked the Poodle Prank: Yippee! I'm so glad you liked the humor, too! 8-) Thank you so much for your kind reviews and feedback. More pranks are on the way, but sorry the chapter isn't here yet… It's coming soon!  
  
velondra539: Personally, I think because of the amount of witnesses who thought they knew what they saw, I think the veritaserum was overlooked. Also, I feel like poor Sirius was lucky he didn't get the kiss outright, because it sure seemed like the circumstances surrounding his capture were more like a lynch mob than an arrest. Thanks as always for your kind words!  
  
Rannchan, Japangirlcarley24, Michelle: Thank you so much for the kind compliments on my writing. I originally posted to get something (anything) out there for others to read, rather than allowing all stories and ideas to gather dust. Feedback like this and so many others has been great for my confidence and has given validation to a private dream. Thank you all very much!  
  
Tanya: I agree with your statement about Hermione needing to see as soon as possible just what Harry was going through. She'll come up with some things to help in the future as well… g  
  
Venus4280: I think Ginny will be returning next chapter… Remember, she was with Charlie.  
  
Nicky: As always, your input and opinions are invaluable. Thank you!!!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 10  
  
  
  
Sirius stirred and blearily opened his eyes. 'What time is it?' he wondered, looking around the dim living room, now only illuminated by the glowing embers of the fire. It was still night, definitely. What had woken him up? Sirius glanced at Harry, who he had finally coaxed into a restless sleep. Tomorrow night he would be able to take the Dreamless Sleep potion again. For only three nights, though. Due to Harry's poor physical condition and lack of reserves, Madam Pomfrey had regretfully reduced the amount of time he could take it while extending the length of time he had to do without.  
  
Sirius jumped, startled, as Harry began to grimace and twitch in his sleep. Harry's hands balled into tight fists and he began to curl into a ball, pulling his legs up to his chest. Feeling dread prickle through his scalp, Sirius watched as the muscles on the sides of Harry's face jumped out, his teeth grinding audibly.  
  
"Harry?" Sirius said to the boy who rested on the couch, his head against a pillow on Sirius' lap. Sirius had brought him here to the Weasley living room after realizing he'd been putting silencing charms around his bed the last two nights. Harry's embarrassment and shame at waking everyone up made him try to retreat ever further into that shell of his that seemed to have sprung up, fully formed, over the summer.  
  
Sirius ran his fingers through Harry's hair. It was soaked with sweat. Sirius shook his shoulder firmly. "Harry," Sirius said, louder now. Harry began gasping for breath. "Harry!" Sirius said, nearly shouting, his pitch rising in near panic as Harry's legs kicked out abruptly, rigidly straight. He arched his back in pain, a scream escaping his lips that sent chills up Sirius' spine.  
  
"Lumos," A voice said from the stairs. Footsteps pounded quickly towards them as Sirius blinked against the abrupt light that now flooded the room.  
  
"No!" Harry screamed, his body now in the throes of a convulsion. He bucked so hard that he nearly fell off the couch completely.  
  
"Harry, wake up!" Sirius yelled, trying to hold his godson to him to keep him from hitting anything and hurting himself further. Sirius glanced up to see Hermione standing in front of him, her eyes wide and frightened. She was staring at Harry, her lower lip quivering. Sirius felt the convulsions begin to weaken, but was terrified that it wasn't because Harry was waking up. In fact, he seemed to slacken in Sirius' arms, his face nearly ashen. Merlin, he was losing him! Sirius barely noticed that Hermione had left the room. He scowled for a moment. He'd thought she was a better friend than that. "Please, Harry, open your eyes!" Sirius begged, then froze in shock as a wave of freezing water splashed across the couch, drenching him and Harry completely. Harry's eyes flew weakly open, and Sirius stared at the frazzled girl standing in front of him, her wand in her hands and an empty bucket at her feet.  
  
"Sorry," she said with a shrug at the stunned expression on Sirius' face, then crouched next to Harry. "Harry, can you hear me?" she asked gently. Harry tried to focus his eyes on her, frowning. Hermione noticed his glasses on the coffee table. She dried them on her robes before slipping them on his face. He smiled weakly at her.  
  
"Thanks," he whispered, then stilled, his body relaxing. Sirius waited for his heart to quit trying to leap out of his chest as he watched Harry. He wasn't sleeping now. He was unconscious. Hermione stood up and headed towards the stairs again. Already feeling bad for his previously uncharitable thoughts towards the girl... 'You know better than that, Sirius,' he said to himself... he watched her silently. A few moments later, she returned with towels, blankets, and some fresh pajamas for Harry. 'Clever,' Sirius thought, grateful she'd thought ahead as he felt Harry begin to shiver. Standing up and gently lifting Harry off the wet couch, he felt a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"I'll take him," Moony said gently. "You're wet as well," he observed, and Sirius wondered where on earth he'd come from. He hadn't seen him come down the stairs. Seeing his unspoken question, Moony nodded towards the front door. "I couldn't sleep," he said, his eyes shadowed as he looked at Harry in his arms. "Go get changed. We'll take care of this," he instructed, meeting eyes with Hermione who nodded as she muttered quietly, drying the couch. She set out Harry's pajamas and looked at Sirius.  
  
"He'll be dry in no time," Hermione said reassuringly. Sirius nodded, and left the room to change.  
  
********************************  
  
Remus watched Hermione towel Harry's hair dry tenderly. She'd turned away bashfully as he'd changed Harry's clothes, then tenderly wrapped him in a blanket, taking up the position Sirius had left: Harry's head resting on a pillow on her lap. He sat across from her, watching them both. For children, no... adolescents, Ron, Hermione, and Harry had an amazingly tight bond. Ron had taken up watch with Harry the nights before Hermione's arrival, waking Harry up when necessary and keeping him occupied when he couldn't bring himself to sleep.  
  
"How long has it been like this?" Hermione asked after a while.  
  
"Since we rescued him," Remus replied. "But I don't know if it's been escalating lately or not. I don't know what it was like for him with... them," he said, unable to bring himself to curl his lips around their names. He felt like taking a bath each time he thought about the Dursleys. How could Harry be like he was when he'd had to live with those... pigs? How could such a good kid survive how they'd treated him?  
  
Remus knew now he should have taken Harry in. He should have fought with Dumbledore harder after James' and Lily's deaths. He'd known how much Lily disliked her sister. He'd heard her snide comments about Vernon shortly after returning from their wedding the year she graduated. Her parents had made her go, but Lily had known how Petunia hated her for showing up at her nuptials at all. 'Protections be damned', he thought. He should have been there for James' son. He couldn't blame it on imprisonment. The only excuse he had were Dumbledore's concerns for Harry's protection and his own shame of being a werewolf. He'd feared being a danger to the boy. In retrospect, a werewolf was nothing compared to them.  
  
Remus thought back to Harry's first night at the Burrow. When Harry had woken them all up and asked for Sirius, Remus knew... Sirius should have been at Harry's side the instant he'd screamed. Remus knew then he'd gone back to the Dursleys... If it weren't for the fact that Remus would have smelled the blood if he'd killed them, he'd have beaten Sirius senseless then and there. Sirius' wand had been broken the day he'd been sentenced for life, so Remus was fairly sure he'd not performed any magic against them. He's waited for everyone else to go back to sleep, glaring daggers at Sirius the whole time.  
  
"What were you thinking?!" Remus had snarled, slamming Sirius against the fireplace brick unceremoniously. Sirius didn't struggle. Shame was evident on his face.  
  
"I wasn't," he replied softly. He was so light in Remus' grip. Too light. Too skinny. Much like Harry himself...  
  
"Of all the most selfish.... Self-absorbed... cruel things..." Remus hissed.  
  
"Cruel?!" Sirius had interrupted, his blue eyes wide in surprise. "Moony, you have to be kidding me! Cruel?!"  
  
"Yes, cruel," Remus had replied, letting Sirius drop wearily, struggling to control his rage. "You kill them or hurt them, and what happens to Harry? You're the first connection Harry's has to his past, to his parents. You give him hope for a better life, away from those Muggles... You and he together. He's been excited by the idea of living with you. He's known you all of... what?.... five minutes and already he trusts you. You would throw that all away? Throw away a chance to prove your innocence and reclaim your life... a life you could share with Harry... by giving the Ministry something they could still persecute you for? All on some worthless Muggles? What a cruel thing to do to Harry," Remus had concluded, sitting wearily on the edge of the cocktail table, his anger nearly spent. Sirius had remained where he was, his head hung low, black hair hiding his face in shadows. His shoulders slumped, and Remus realized Sirius was silently crying.  
  
"I didn't hurt them. I just felt like I had to do something. I haven't been there for him... ever, Moony. And I felt so completely useless, seeing him in so much pain, still ready to bash my brains out with that ridiculous lamp. He doesn't need me, Moony... But I need him," he'd said, slowly sliding to the floor. "I need him, and each day I'm losing him a little bit more."  
  
Remus felt the last of his anger slip away like a wisp of smoke. Of all the things he'd seen from Padfoot recently: rage, guilt, bitterness, hate... It hadn't been grief. Remus quickly crouched next to his friend, wrapping his arms around his friend and pulling him close like a child in need of comfort. Like he'd done with Harry earlier that evening.  
  
"He needs you now more than ever, Padfoot," Remus had tried to reassure him. Sirius shook his head.  
  
"He's never been able to depend on anyone. And now, with all this... Look what he's endured this summer all on his own. How long did it take us to finally see the writing on the wall?" Sirius asked. Remus shook his head.  
  
"We're here for him now. We can try to help now," Remus said reasonably.  
  
"He can't allow himself to rely on anyone. It's no longer a matter of trust, Moony. He's learned to trust Ron and Hermione. He trusts the Weasleys. But now with that boy's death... He knows what the stakes are. He knows what could happen to any of us, and it's too late," Sirius said in anguish, defeated. "If I'd gotten free sooner, developed a relationship of some sort with him before all this happened... maybe he wouldn't be able to shut me out. But he's used to the pain and loneliness, and now that he fears for our safety he'll never let us in."  
  
"Sirius," Remus had said, lifting Sirius' face to look at him. "He needs you more than any of us," he stated firmly. Sirius clearly hadn't believed him. "Look at what he faces each night. He's fifteen years old, and he witnesses... well, we all know it's bad. He's seen more horror than any one individual ever should. Now, how old were you when you were thrown in Azkaban? You've been facing your fears and nightmares for years, Padfoot, and you're still here. Harry has you to show him that despite everything, you can still survive with your sanity *somewhat* intact and still have the capacity to love and laugh. Who else could show him that after everything he's gone through, and *will* go through, he can still have a good life?"  
  
Sirius had been still for a long time after that. Remus had thought he'd fallen asleep, but after nearly half an hour leaning against Remus' shoulder, Sirius had sighed loudly and stirred.  
  
"I need you, too, Moony," Sirius had said quietly. Remus closed his eyes against the wave of emotion that once again threatened to engulf him as he recollected that night. That Halloween night, he'd lost everyone who'd been dear to him. He'd lost James and Lily to Voldemort. He'd thought he'd lost Peter to Sirius. He'd lost Sirius to Azkaban. Of the Marauders, only he remained; alone... painfully alone as he'd always ever been, except for a few precious years at Hogwarts. Now he had Sirius again, and the betrayal that had burnt him so deeply turned out to be untrue. Remus had known and loved Peter... but he'd never been blind to his faults... He hated to admit it, but he was comforted by the fact that Peter had betrayed the Potters and not Sirius.  
  
"And I need you, Padfoot. Now more than ever," Remus had said, closing his eyes wearily, amazed at how true it was.  
  
"Remus?" A girl's voice brought Remus back to the present. Hermione. Remus smiled distractedly.  
  
"You were somewhere else for a bit," Hermione observed as she finished drying Harry's hair. Absently, she tossed the towel on the coffee table and used her fingers to twirl a couple of strands of hair around her finger, a small smile on her face. "You know, he'd never let me do this if he were awake," she observed.  
  
"Then perhaps I'd better be," Harry said weakly. Hermione squeaked as she looked down at him in a surprise, a guilty blush creeping up her neck.  
  
"How do you feel?" Remus asked, quickly kneeling beside Harry and looking at him intently.  
  
"Better than earlier," Harry replied, closing his eyes briefly.  
  
"He's awake!" Sirius cried as he saw them talking. A big smile lit up his face as he practically skipped down the stairs, nearly toppling Remus in his haste to reach Harry's side.  
  
"Pardon you," Remus said dryly as he stood up to make room for Sirius. Hermione smiled widely at Remus, then looked down at Harry again, her face serious.  
  
"Harry, I didn't realize how bad your dreams have gotten," she said seriously. Harry tried to shrug, but considering his position it looked more like a grimace. "Was it…?" she asked tentatively, and missed the warning look Sirius gave her.  
  
No one asked about Harry's dreams, at least not anymore. He'd sent his dream journal back with Dumbledore that first day. Upon Madam Pomfrey's return the next morning she'd stated clearly Dumbledore's strict instructions not to ask Harry about his dreams. He would talk about them when he was ready… if he ever was. Remus relayed these instructions now to Hermione, who looked stricken. Harry looked discretely relieved.  
  
"Harry, I'm sorry…" she said. Harry smiled reassuringly at her and reached out a hand, which she promptly took in hers.  
  
"Hermione, it's okay. Really. Yes, it was Voldemort, and I would prefer not to talk about it, but not because I don't trust you. I've been recording my dreams for Dumbledore, and it's hard enough to write it all out, let alone talk about it, too. I was using that journal you gave me, but Dumbledore's got it now, so I've been recording my dreams on scrolls," he said, then smiled gently. "Although soon no one will be able to read my writing." Sirius cringed at the comment and Remus felt his heart drop at the resignation that accompanied Harry's humor.  
  
"Well, it looks like the party's already started, Fred," George said, sauntering downstairs, his bright red hair sticking up in all directions. He wore striped pajamas that were yellow and lime green, and Hermione shook her head. Fred scuffed behind him, still bleary eyed. He looked at the people assembled below and grunted.  
  
"Rough night?" Sirius asked innocently. Fred glared at Sirius and Remus shot him a glance. Had he done anything to the twins? Sirius discretely shook his head. But he'd had them on pins and needles for a while now. Remus knew today would be an interesting day.  
  
"Harry, you're awake!" Ron said, his pajama shirt inside out as he came down the stairs yawning loudly, arms stretched widely. Harry smiled as the rest of the Weasley family began to assemble. "Happy birthday, Harry," Ron said with a warm smile. Hermione's smile grew wider as she noticed Ron's pajama top. Remus caught the quick exchange of glances between Harry and Hermione. He'd seen it as well, and they were both quietly laughing.  
  
"Thanks, Ron," Harry replied, gingerly trying to push himself up into the sitting position. Sirius was helping him in an instant. Remus noted the palsy in Harry's limbs had worsened with last nights dreams. He forced his smile not to falter, but Sirius wasn't as adept. He frowned as he helped Harry up, locking eyes for a moment with Remus.  
  
"Well, Ginny'll be here any second. What do you say we wake up mum and dad and get the festivities going?" George asked. Fred nodded as well, George's enthusiasm finally rubbing off on him.  
  
"How about breakfast?" Sirius asked. Remus shot him a look.  
  
"Not if you're cooking it," he replied. 


	11. Birthday Breakfast

Disclaimer: Different story, same characters. Still not mine.  
  
Sparks, Harriet, Kattis_black, Nicky (as always), Lady Foxfire, Kate the Great, malexandria, Sou, Anie, velondra, -_-, Hyper Princess, lothey, Phoenix, and Japangirlcarley24: Thank you so much for your kind reviews!!! Hope you enjoy!  
  
Endriago Luna: Not sure about pairings, or even if I'll go there with this story. Harry's got far too much on his plate at the moment. But I might, if the characters insist.  
  
Tanya: You'll find out more about the significance of these dreams in future chapters. They're definitely not precognitive, but you'll see why they're important. Besides, at the moment only the Dreamless Sleep Potion keeps them at bay for Harry, and there are complications using it.  
  
venus4280: You'll be definitely getting more dream content in upcoming chapters, but it won't be pretty!  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 11  
  
  
  
Harry tried to stand up, to walk to the dining table to join the Weasleys for breakfast. Sirius stood at Harry's side as he tentatively pushed himself off the couch, not quite helping him. Sirius instinctively seemed to recognize Harry's need to determine if he could stand or not. Weakly, Harry stood up, his legs wobbling horribly. Hermione and Ron's eyes were worried, but thankfully they didn't say anything. Harry hovered for a moment between sitting and standing, almost thinking he'd made it, when the world tilted crazily and Harry lost all sense of where he was. He knew he was falling.  
  
"I've got you," Sirius whispered in his ear, and strong arms closed around his shivering body as the world reoriented itself. Harry closed his eyes for a second in frustration. So this was it. He no longer could even stand on his own. His eyes were bleak as they looked at Sirius. He held Harry close, his face showing so many expressions at once it was hard to trace them all. Concern, love, worry, helplessness…  
  
"Are you hungry?" Ron asked Harry as the tense silence began to grow. Harry nodded, which caused Sirius to break out into a huge smile. Harry frowned. There was something sinister about that smile.  
  
"Really? You're hungry?" Sirius asked, and to Harry's surprise, he really was.  
  
"Excellent!" Ron said with a bright smile. Hermione was smiling as well. Automatically, she reached down and grabbed the duvet Harry had been wrapped in on the couch and threw it over him.  
  
'Face it, Harry,' he thought miserably as he watched Hermione's tender gesture, 'How will you be able to get to class? There's no way you'll be able to go to Hogwarts like this. Not with the trick staircases, and classes ranging from the dungeons to the Astronomy Tower.' Not if he couldn't even stand.  
  
Harry smiled at Hermione sadly as she tucked the duvet around him, realizing this might be the last time he saw her this year at all. Or Ron. Where could he go now? How would he be able to learn to fight Voldemort? Where would he stay? Surely, he couldn't continue to stay with the Weasleys indefinitely, until he either got better or…  
  
Abruptly, Harry cut off that line of thought before it got too far ahead of him. He'd face it later. Right now he was going to enjoy his birthday. Harry caught Remus looking at him intently for a moment. He'd seen the expression on Harry's face. Harry smiled tentatively at him.  
  
'Quit noticing things, Professor,' Harry thought quietly. Remus was far too observant.  
  
Sirius carried Harry over to the table and settled him in an enormous chair he'd dragged from the living room. Harry stifled a sigh, knowing Sirius' concern was legitimate. The table's simple wooden chairs with homemade seat cushions in brick red, bright green and blue, and more varieties of plaid than Harry even knew existed, were thin and wobbly. He knew if he tried to sit on those and his tremors got too bad, he might just fall out of the bloody thing completely.  
  
"When's Ginny coming back?" Ron asked as he settled across the table from Harry. Plates and bowls of food were floating in from the kitchen and settled on the table. Glasses of orange juice and tea followed, which Fred and George had to duck to avoid as they seated themselves next to Hermione. Sirius sat next to Harry and across from Ron.  
  
"I think she's coming after breakfast," George answered, already grabbing the bowl of eggs and placing a hearty amount on his own plate. Ron nodded and looked up as Mrs. Weasley entered the dining room, satisfied enough with preparations to join her family at the table.  
  
"Where's dad?" Fred asked, curiously through a mouthful of food.  
  
"He already left for work," Mrs. Weasley said grimly. All movement at the table ceased for a moment, as all eyes looked towards her. Remus looked at Sirius, and Ron, Hermione and Harry all exchanged worried expressions, but Mrs. Weasley refused to elaborate. "He'll be home this evening," she said. "Eat!"  
  
Sirius piled Harry's plate with eggs, bacon and pancakes. Harry weakly reached out to drink his orange juice and frowned in concentration as he willed his grip not to fail. The glass rattled against his teeth as he drank and he realized that once again everyone had stopped eating. Harry drank the juice eagerly, relishing the coolness against his throat, and gingerly set the glass back down on the edge.  
  
'Don't fall,' he willed it. Thankfully, it didn't. Looking up, noises abruptly began again as everyone pretended not to have watched him. Harry sighed.  
  
"Pass the bangers?" Fred asked, small bits of food still evident in his mouth. Hermione gave him a disgusted look as she reached for the sausages.  
  
"Please," Mrs. Weasley corrected sternly. "And don't speak with your mouth full."  
  
"Please?" Fred asked, giving Hermione a sad face. She rolled her eyes at him and reached out for the plate…  
  
"No, I've got it," Sirius said with a smile, snatching the plate from in front of Hermione and handing it to Fred. Fred took the dish from Sirius with wide eyes. Harry watched as Fred and George exchanged a fearful look. Sirius smiled innocently at them. "Here you go," he said politely.  
  
"Thanks," Fred nearly coughed, and Harry couldn't help but grin at the nervousness on his face.  
  
Harry idly began to eat his food as he watched Fred tentatively put a sausage on his plate.  
  
"You want any?" Fred offered to George. George shook his head vehemently.  
  
"No thanks," George said, recoiling from the plate. Mrs. Weasley watched the interplay with a frown.  
  
"Is there something wrong?" she asked the twins. Both boys shook their heads and quickly picked up their forks, diving in to their food so as not to offend their mother.  
  
Harry watched as they now ate in silence, surreptitiously shooting glances at Sirius who was praising Mrs. Weasley's food to the sky. Hermione was turning red with the effort not to laugh, and everyone watched as Fred cleaned his plate of everything but the sausage. He reached out to dish more eggs on his plate when Mrs. Weasley stopped him.  
  
"Clean your plate before seconds," she said sternly.  
  
"Actually, I think I'm full," Fred said, leaning back and patting his belly dramatically.  
  
"Then split it with your brother," Mrs. Weasley said firmly. Harry shot her a quick glance of surprise and recognized the glee he saw there. She knew! George choked on his food.  
  
"Mum, I'm full, too," George protested. Sirius continued to smile dangerously, and Remus now had to cough a couple of times to hide his laughter.  
  
"You didn't have any bangers, George Weasley. I thought you liked them? Well, even if you've changed your mind," she said matter-of-factly, "You know the rules. You don't have to eat a lot, but you have to try everything," she said firmly. Fred was already eagerly cutting his sausage in half and placing it on George's plate. George looked at it like it was going to run up and bite him at any moment.  
  
Harry welcomed the bubble of laughter threatening to break Mrs. Weasley's terrific act. It felt good to want to giggle, and a part of him was quietly amazed at how alien it felt to be happy; to be having a good time. Sirius saw Harry struggling not to laugh and widened his eyes at his godson mischievously. Everyone else at the table had given up eating. They were waiting on the twins in eager anticipation.  
  
Fred slowly cut his sausage into tiny bites, and after watching George do the same, placed his fork in a sliver and brought it up to his mouth, tentatively. He sniffed at it, and in unspoken agreement, both twins ate a bite at the same time.  
  
The table was silent, waiting to see what happened next. Fred and George stared at each other, then at Sirius.  
  
"Well?" Fred asked.  
  
"I don't feel anything," George said with relief dawning on their face. Smiling, they ate a few more bites under Mrs. Weasley's stern gaze.  
  
"It's great, mum," Fred said. George nodded. Sirius stretched his arms up and yawned innocently, causing dual glares of irritation to be cast his way. Harry was beginning to wonder if this had been another decoy as well, when the table in front of him jolted abruptly. Sirius caught his and Harry's drinks before they spilled, clearly prepared. Chairs clattered to the floor as Harry tried to see the twins. Frowning, he stretched to look over the table to the fallen chairs, but didn't see them.  
  
"Cor blimey!" a voice called from above Harry's head. Harry looked up, startled, and realized both twins hadn't fallen down, they'd fallen up. They were lying on the ceiling, staring at Sirius in disgust.  
  
"Fred Weasley! Language!" Mrs. Weasley said sternly, but then ruined the effect by snickering.  
  
"Are you thirsty?" Sirius asked innocently, standing up with Fred's orange juice in his hand and reaching above his head with it. Remus spluttered into his own drink, spraying it everywhere. Ron joined him, now laughing so hard he was crying. Sirius sat back down with a shrug at his *kind* gesture, placing the glass back on the table.  
  
Harry watched as the twins scowled in unison and made to stand up. As legs untangled and they stood up *down*, their dressing gown fell over their heads, exposing a matching set of fuchsia pajamas. Harry's face hurt from smiling now. Sirius was definitely living up to the legends.  
  
"Come on, Fred, I can see we're not wanted here," George scowled with wounded pride. Fred pressed his dressing gown down to keep it from falling in his face and walked towards the stairwell to head upstairs. When they reached the stairs they paused, looking at each other in bewilderment.  
  
"I think today's not a good idea to go outside," Sirius suggested helpfully. Hermione was now giggling hysterically, and Ron snorted.  
  
"Did I just do that?" Ron asked between laughs, then snorted again. Hermione was clutching her side now, and Fred and George realized that going upstairs upside down was harder than it looked. Grabbing a hold of the railing, George flipped over the side of the stairwell, his legs sticking up as his robe fell in his face. Spluttering, he let himself drop on the upstairs ceiling with a resounding *thud*. Fred followed suit a little more gracefully, and they retreated to their room.  
  
"How long will that last?" Mrs. Weasley asked, laughing herself.  
  
"It should wear off by this evening," Sirius replied. Thumps could be heard upstairs.  
  
"Bloody brilliant!" Ron said as he got control of himself again.  
  
"Ron!" Mrs. Weasley corrected sternly.  
  
"Sorry, mum," Ron said automatically, not contrite in the least.  
  
"Wait till they have to use the loo," Sirius said, and Harry cracked up completely, joining Ron and Hermione's chorus of hoots and howls. 


	12. Suspicions and Surprises

Nicky: Thanks, as always!  
  
Velondra, Tanya, Lin-z, Kayla Summers, summersun, Harriet, Japangirlcarley24, Sailor Sol, Hyper Princess, Samantha Potter, Kimmy, Lynx, Kate the Great, Anie, Michelle, venus4280, ratgirl, Someone, and SpiderGirl05: Thank you all so much for your kind reviews. I'm really glad you liked the prank. I was a little concerned it wouldn't translate well from how I visualized it in my mind.  
  
Lothey: Hmmm. Hadn't thought about that. I'll see what I can do.  
  
Sou: Ummm. I'm not quite sure how this got into the S/H section. Is it because of the main and secondary character listing? I'm sorry if I misled. I simply thought it was used to specify the primary characters, not pairings. Hope you still keep reading anyway.  
  
To Someone, my 200th review. Thank you very much!  
  
Enjoy!  
  
  
  
Chapter 12  
  
  
  
Harry sighed, his fork clattering loudly against the plate as he tried to set it down. He could feel all eyes on him, but refused to look up, silently cursing the embarrassed blush that tinted his skin. Talk resumed, and Sirius leaned over to Harry.  
  
"All done?" he asked softly. Harry nodded. He'd actually eaten more today than he had in over a month, he knew. It felt good to eat too much. Sinful, really.  
  
"The meal was excellent, Mrs. Weasley. And the sausage was quite surprising," Harry said. Mrs. Weasley actually giggled. Remus smiled widely at Harry, and Sirius grinned wickedly.  
  
Sirius was good for Remus, Harry realized, on a lot of levels. Remus Lupin had shown more emotion, more animation in the past few days than he had the entire school year he'd taught at Hogwarts. Ooops. Harry felt himself teeter to one side and tried to discretely support himself against the armchair. Sirius noted the small movement and stood up quickly, his hand steadying Harry's shoulder.  
  
"Why don't we get you back on the couch?" Sirius asked, but didn't wait for an answer as he scooped Harry up in his arms. Harry noted the stark concern on Ron and Hermione's faces, and wished he could offer up some reassurance. But he couldn't. He couldn't even tell them that at least he didn't feel any pain. He did. The scar constantly throbbed now, seeming to pulse in time with his heartbeat. He'd adjust to the discomfort, have another dream, and then the pain would escalate… just a little. It frightened Harry in a primal way, but it was nothing he could articulate. It was as if with each dream his bond with Voldemort strengthened. The thought made Harry queasy.  
  
At the beginning of the summer, when the dreams had begun in earnest, Harry had dismissed the increasing headaches. Just a week before Sirius arrived, though, he'd had to accept it. Not only were the dreams more frequent, they were more vivid. Harry had always been told people dream in black and white. He certainly didn't. But as the dreams increased, so did the sensory input. The smell of a place; was it musty, was there incense burning? The feel of carpet against his feet, or the cool smooth tiles. Stone sometimes. Sounds… the quiet desperate panting of someone who knew they had no chance, but who still refused to beg, who desperately tried not to cry out…  
  
"Harry?" Sirius asked, frozen by the look he must have seen on Harry's face.  
  
"Yes?" Harry replied. 'Wow, so much for enjoying your birthday, Potter,' he said firmly to himself with a mental shake. 'Now stop this nonsense,' he admonished and smiled at Sirius.  
  
"Alright?" Sirius asked. Harry nodded, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms tightly around Sirius' neck in a fierce hug as he went to set him on the couch.  
  
"I loved how you got the twins. I've never seen anything like it. I can't wait for them to find out that you and Remus are the Marauders," Harry said. He hated how weak his voice sounded, but he managed to convey his delight nonetheless. Sirius paused in surprise at the hug for just a moment before responding in kind, pulling Harry close and burying Harry's head in his shoulder. Harry nestled further into Sirius' shoulder and relished the feel of his new robes.  
  
Remus had insisted Sirius get them for Harry's birthday. Harry had replied he didn't mind what kind of outfit Sirius wore as long as it wasn't his birthday suit. The thick fabric gently scratched against Harry's cheek, and he could still detect the faint scent of dye. He could also barely smell what must have been Sirius' shampoo or aftershave. It hinted a little of peppermint and rosemary.  
  
Harry took a deep breath in contentment, only distantly annoyed as his senses began to spin. He was falling asleep. Harry struggled to open his eyes for a moment. After all, he'd only just gotten up, but Sirius just continued to hold him close. His grip on Sirius loosened, and he sighed softly as he drifted to sleep, too tired to fight it and too content to care. The last sound he was aware of was a gentle chuckle from Sirius as he placed Harry on the couch, then all was blissfully silent.  
  
******************************************  
  
"Ginny!" Ron said happily as she appeared in front of the fireplace, soot smudged on her face and robe. She smiled warmly at him, then let out a 'woof' of air as Hermione hugged her. The size difference between the two girls was drastic to Ron. Hermione towered over Ginny in much the same way as Ron towered over Hermione. Ron looked at Hermione, surprised by her affection. He hadn't realized they were that close.  
  
"It's good to see you, Ginny," Hermione said, squeezing her tightly. Ginny patted Hermione on the back, obviously pleased but also a bit surprised, then her eyes slid to Harry, asleep on the couch. Ron nodded his head towards the kitchen.  
  
"Hi guys, Professor Lupin," Ginny whispered.  
  
"Ginny, please just call me Remus," Remus said and Hermione smothered a giggle. Ron frowned at her for a moment, but couldn't see what was funny.  
  
"How is he?" she asked softly, her eyes focused on Harry. Ron looked at her intently. They locked eyes for a moment, and Ginny nodded, dropping her own eyes quickly, but not soon enough for Ron to miss the tears that glittered unshed. There were things Ron wasn't ready yet to voice his fears about, but it was evident Harry wasn't getting any better. Ginny understood. Ron nodded towards the kitchen, indicating it would be better to take any further conversation in there. Hermione and Ginny nodded.  
  
Ron knew the real reason why his mum had sent Ginny to stay with Charlie. There were no guarantees anymore with Harry. In the first few days after they'd brought him to the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley had decided that Ginny's own reoccurring nightmares would not be helped by Harry's terrified and pain filled shrieks. She'd immediately sent Ginny off, much to Ginny's utter disgust, and she would have kept her there until school started if Charlie had been able to keep her. Unfortunately (for mum, not for Charlie) he'd discovered a dragon's nest in Albany that required a great deal of time and planning to reach, and had been forced to send Ginny home early.  
  
"So did you finish your homework?" Hermione teased as they entered the kitchen, saying what everyone expected her to say, perhaps even to indulge them and to break the lengthening silence. Ron raised his hands to the ceiling dramatically.  
  
"Oi! Why me? Why…. Eeep!" Ron squeaked as he was lifted off the floor by two pairs of hands, his legs kicking at the air in surprise. Ginny looked up, startled, to the ceiling to see Fred and George, crouching down *up* on the ceiling with Ron held firmly between them.  
  
"Hey, little sister. Welcome back! I think we need the recipe for this prank, Fred. There are just too many things we can do here. Imagine… combine this with a floatation spell, and we could walk the halls of Hogwarts practically undetected. No one looks up. It's perfect," George said with a gleam in his eye.  
  
"Put me down," Ron said, not struggling but rather trying to brace himself for what he knew would happen next…  
  
"As you wish," Fred said, and they both immediately let go of Ron, letting him drop to the floor. Everyone in the room froze for a moment as Ron nearly crashed into the trash can, which thankfully leaped out of the way in time. Now completely still, Ron was afraid they'd made too much noise and woken Harry up. Anxiously, Ron peeked in the living room, but Sirius met his eyes and shook his head. Ron sighed, glad Harry was still asleep. Sirius glared at the twins, who looked guilty and shifted self-consciously. Ginny, too, withered under that glare, clearly uncomfortable.  
  
"Sorry," they both mouthed to Sirius sheepishly, and stood. Standing straight up *down*, their heads were just a few meters above Ron, their hair sticking in all directions as evidently only their bodies were effected by Sirius' spell.  
  
"Why don't you go out and play some Quiddich?" Ron suggested with dry menace. They looked seriously at each other for a moment.  
  
"You know… flying upside down could prove intriguing," Fred said and Ron felt his eyes widen. He'd been joking.  
  
"You will do no such thing!" Mrs. Weasley whispered fiercely. Ron was amazed how their mum always seemed to hear the twins when their scheming was just about to get out of hand. He wondered if she had to gauge what she 'heard' and what she didn't. "And why are you all congregated in here? It's the first decent sleep Harry's had in days. If I were you I would not want to be the one who woke him up," she said, then her eyes lit on Ginny. "Ginny, you're home! Come on, I'll help you unpack," she said warmly, and Ron watched Ginny follow her upstairs.  
  
Ginny and Mrs. Weasley dodged Fred and George's legs as they dangled over the stairwell, talking softly. The twins hung on to the railing for a moment, before landing upstairs.  
  
After the twins disappeared upstairs, Ron remained in the kitchen doorway studying Sirius as he watched Harry sleep. He was a gangly looking man, tall, with jerky movements. He did everything fast and abruptly. He walked with long, powerful strides and sat completely boneless, dropping so heavily into chairs that they'd begun to protest loudly, trying to scurry away in fright as Sirius approached them with intent.  
  
Right at the moment, Sirius was perched at Harry's side, seemingly poised to leap to Harry's aid or defend him at a moment's notice. His face was gaunt, shadowed and angular, but his smile, the few times Ron had seen it, made him look like a new man. Ron wasn't sure if the dark circles under Sirius' eyes were from his own nightmares or from staying up to watch over Harry. Sirius had almost unnaturally light blue eyes, and sometimes the look in them made Ron shiver. Twelve years in Azkaban. He couldn't even begin to imagine.  
  
"Does Ginny still have nightmares?" Hermione asked, breaking into his reverie. Ron looked at her in surprise. She shrugged.  
  
"In the girl's dorm, not much passes unnoticed. Do keep that in mind," Hermione said wryly. Ron felt himself blushing without even knowing why. Hermione smirked at him and glanced back at Harry as Ron nodded.  
  
"Dumbledore's coming today," Ron told her. She nodded.  
  
"Madam Pomfrey, too?" she asked. Ron shrugged. "I wonder if they've got Professor Snape working on a new sleeping potion for Harry," she said idly. Ron felt his jaw drop.  
  
"You have got to be joking?" Ron said. Hermione rolled her eyes.  
  
"Ron, please, he's a Potions Master. There aren't more than ten in the world as good as him. Harry needs to get some distance between those attacks and his sleep or…" Hermione's voice drifted off. Ron growled.  
  
"We all know what could happen, Hermione..." Ron snapped. Hermione shook her head.  
  
"No, that's not it," she interrupted with a raised hand, staring at Harry intently.  
  
"What?" Ron asked.  
  
"Let me think about it. We've got three days until Harry has to do without the potion, right?" she asked. Ron nodded in irritation.  
  
"I might have an idea. But I need to get more information before…" she said, and now Ron interrupted.  
  
"Before what?" Ron asked.  
  
"I'll tell you when I think it really might be feasible," she said, and Ron glared for a moment.  
  
"I hate when you leave me hanging," Ron growled. Hermione laughed, then turned solemn.  
  
"I'll need to ask your dad some questions I'm not sure he'll want to answer when he gets home tonight," Hermione said. Ron nodded.  
  
"No problem. If you think it'll help Harry, he'll do anything. I've never seen him as shaken up as when he first brought Harry back from the Dursleys…" Ron said, then paused for a moment. "Hermione, did you know about them…?" he asked. He saw the raw look of pain and shame on her face as she shook her head.  
  
"I feel like a twit for not seeing it, Ron. I mean, we all knew it was bad. You've told me what you've heard them say to him. Of course, that wouldn't be the limit," she said in disgust. Surprisingly, Ron felt better. Even Hermione hadn't suspected.  
  
"Well, I can't wait till dad gets home. That's when we'll give Harry his present. I can't wait to see his face," Ron said with a huge smile. He almost felt like jumping up and down in anticipation. Hermione's eyes widened, but Ron shook his head. "Just wait and see," he said, glad to be able to tease her with a mystery of his own. Hermione laughed, and they went to quietly join Sirius in the living room. 


	13. Other Options

Lothey: Wow. I am still floored that you drew such a comical scene based on my story. I am so pleased, and grateful, and touched! Thank you again, and as always, thanks for your kind reviews. And because I'm the author here, by golly, I'm just going to list that link for everyone else to see your work as well! Thanks again! http://www.geocities.com/gredandfeorgeareuptonogood/gandf.jpg  
  
Grace, Michelle, Malena, velondra539, Japangirlcarley24, Sou (phew, glad we got that cleared up g), Prongsjr, WillowGyrl29, Someone, mnemosyne, Hyper Princess, ratgirl, Lady FoxFire, summersun, Lynx, Phoenix, CocaCola, and Mija: Well, many of you had questions and hopefully at least a few will be answered here. As always, I am profoundly grateful for the reviews. Thanks again!  
  
Tanya: Ginny's nightmares are more just from her experiences with the diary. No connection to Harry's current ones. You'll have to see what I have in mind for Professor Snape. I find myself eagerly looking forward and oddly anxious to write about him. You'll get more of a picture about Harry's dreams as things progress. Hope the longer chapter makes up for the wait!  
  
Kaydee: Yikes! No pairing here (as this is my first fic, I'm a bit shy about these things…). Yes, they'll eventually learn the truth about Sirius and Remus, but first they must understand what it means to be a prankmaster! 8-)  
  
Kate the Great: I just read your story, and I am so bummed! I thought my idea was original, but I see in your lovely story Harry Potter and the Wish of Dreams that Hermione's idea has already been used. No plagiarism was intended (in my defense, I've been hinting at Hermione's idea for a little while… Sigh. Sometimes it's hard that I am such a Harry Potter fanfiction nut.) 8-(  
  
Nicky: As always, thanks a million! Especially about the date. You rock!  
  
Author's Note: Please note I've changed the rating of this story to PG-13 due to the unpleasant nature of Harry's dreams.  
  
  
  
Chapter 13  
  
  
  
Sirius jumped as a bony hand rested gently on his shoulder. Opening his eyes blearily, he looked around to find Remus behind him, a cup of tea in his hand. He must have dozed off. Instinctively, Sirius looked over to check up on Harry. He was still asleep, turned on his side with his face burrowed into the back cushion as if to keep out the intrusively cheerful late morning sunshine that was slowly creeping its way through the windows.  
  
"I really wish you'd let me at least make a bed out of some blankets for you. Watching your head bob as you doze, wake yourself up, then doze again is giving me sympathetic whiplash," Remus said, handing the cup of tea to Sirius, who gratefully accepted it. In truth, Sirius was more content on the floor than in a bed now anyway. Perhaps it was all the time spent as 'Snuffles' both in Azkaban and on the run. Sitting was only slightly more difficult. He gulped the hot tea eagerly, savoring the warmth of the drink in an attempt to thaw the chill of fear that had been growing inside him all morning. Remus had allowed it to steep far too long, giving Sirius a sorely needed and deeply appreciated caffeine boost.  
  
"Mmmmph," Sirius said grumpily, curling the toes of his left foot to try to get circulation back to his leg, which had annoyingly fallen asleep. He drank again, finishing the tea and setting the cup gingerly on the coffee table. "Ooooh, I feel like a quaffle that's gone through the hoops one too many times," he said tiredly, his voice quiet.  
  
Harry stirred for a moment, whimpering softly as his hand pressed against his forehead. His fingers were rigidly straight, and a slight hiss of pain escaped his lips before he once more buried his head in the couch cushions. His arm shielded his face from view, and his shoulders tensed. Sirius reached out and gently rubbed Harry's back. After a moment, Harry seemed to relax back into peaceful sleep. Remus' eyes were clouded as he watched Sirius.  
  
"I think his scar hurts all the time now," Sirius said quietly. Remus nodded.  
  
"I do too," Remus agreed, sitting across from Sirius in a chair, settling wearily.  
  
"I don't know what to do," Sirius said with stark candor. It caught Remus by surprise. He blinked a couple of times, considering his answer before responding.  
  
"You're doing it," Remus replied.  
  
"It's not enough," Sirius said, his eyes on Harry as he ran his fingers through his hair roughly. It was a gesture of frustration Remus recognized.  
  
"No, it isn't. But it's the best we can do for now," Remus said, then leaned forward, looking first at Harry, then at Sirius intently.  
  
"And I hate it," Sirius said, flinching at the lost sound his own voice made. Remus was up and in front of him before Sirius realized he'd moved. He held out his hand to Sirius in invitation, but the look on his face made it more of a command.  
  
"Come on, we'll get Ron and Hermione to stay in here for a while. You need some fresh air," Remus commanded. Sirius glanced over at Harry one more time before accepting Remus' hand and wearily standing. He stretched for a moment, arching his back then hunching it forward to try to work out some of the kinks. With a last look to make sure Harry still slept, Sirius turned and followed Remus out of the room, unaware of two green eyes blearily watching them leave before closing again, their expression unreadable.  
  
*******************************************************************  
  
Harry awoke to warmth. A soothing, relaxing wave of peace seemed to overwhelm him. Muscles unclenched and nerve endings ceased to spasm and jump painfully. Harry sighed, riding the sensations almost to the brink of sleep again before he realized with a start that his scar had stopped hurting.  
  
Warm, narrow bony fingers with sharp nails shifted on his shoulder, and in the next instant Harry was nearly leaping off the couch fearfully. Blankets flew everywhere as well as limbs as Harry scrambled up out of sleep. Frantic trilling caught his attention as several voices spoke up at once.  
  
"Easy, Harry, it's okay! It's just Fawkes," Hermione said soothingly. Harry grabbed his glasses with trembling hands and looked up to see Fawkes hovering above him, beady eyes wide and distressed. Harry pressed a hand to his heart and took deep breaths for a moment, looking around him. Professor Dumbledore sat across from Harry with a cup of tea in his hand, some of which appeared to have spilt on his beard. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were also in the room, along with Ron and Hermione. They had all rushed forward, reaching out soothingly to Harry to help him settle back on to the couch. Harry flushed uncomfortably.  
  
"Blimey, Harry, I think you gave me a heart attack," Ron said with an edgy laugh.  
  
"I almost gave myself one," Harry joked and shot an apologetic glance up towards Fawkes. Fawkes warbled out a couple more flustered notes before settling once more on Harry's shoulder. Harry suppressed the shudder as Fawkes' talons once again brought up memories of the graveyard and Cedric's uninhabited eyes. He swallowed dryly against the unwelcome flashbacks and closed his eyes briefly. Fawkes seemed to sense his fear and nestled against Harry's neck, making a noise in his ear that could almost be a purr. The memories dissipated as once again a sense of peace seeped into Harry's bones. Running a hand distractedly through his disheveled hair, Harry became aware that the right side of his head was wet. Harry locked eyes with Dumbledore as he felt the moisture against his skull.  
  
"Fawkes' tears…?" Harry asked. Dumbledore nodded brightly.  
  
"He insisted on visiting you for your birthday. I think he wanted to give you a present, too," Dumbledore replied with a faint smile.  
  
Harry sat still for a moment, mentally checking to see how he felt. He held out his hand in front of him for a moment. It still trembled, but not nearly as bad as it had been. He could easily write with a quill now. His stomach, which had been in painful knots for over a month now, was relaxed and… growling again. Harry raised his eyebrows at that.  
  
"How do you feel, Harry?" Arthur Weasley asked intently. Ron and Hermione's eyes were huge as they stared from Fawkes to Harry.  
  
"I feel… much better. Like I could even take a walk, or do something other than just sit," Harry said, then frowned. "What time is it? I thought you weren't supposed to be home until this evening, Mr. Weasley," Harry asked. Mr. Weasley smiled.  
  
"I left early. In fact, Percy is holding down the fort at the moment. He'll be by later… Don't worry, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, raising a hand to forestall Harry's worries about Sirius. "I've already told Sirius when he'll be arriving."  
  
"Where is Sirius?" Harry asked curiously. He hadn't left Harry's side for days now.  
  
"Remus made him go outside for a while. All he had to do was tell Sirius that he was beginning to look as pale as Snape," Ron said with a wry grin. Harry smiled weakly.  
  
"So how much better do you feel?" Hermione asked, as always seeking a more qualified answer.  
  
"I don't think I could play Quidditch, but I think I could risk flying," Harry said wistfully. The idea of flying again nearly made his heart sing… He honestly hadn't thought he'd be able to… 'Stop that. You're feeling better,' Harry corrected himself before that thought ran away with him.  
  
"Perfect! Now you're certain to get better!" Ron said happily. Harry smiled. His friends knew how much flying meant to him.  
  
"That's amazing. I've read of the healing property of phoenix tears, of course, but it's so different to see it happen. You look a lot better, Harry. You're not as pale, and even your eyes seem a bit brighter," Hermione said. Dumbledore raised a hand to interrupt Harry's friends.  
  
"Unfortunately, Fawkes' gift is not a solution. Phoenix tears cannot protect you from future dreams, Harry, and as you can see by the tremors in your hands, you've not been completely healed, either. But he's given us more time to find a more reliable solution," Dumbledore said.  
  
"But can't he do this again the next time Harry gets bad?" Ron demanded, frowning. Hermione shook her head.  
  
"For phoenix tears to contain healing properties, they must be freely given, Ron," Hermione answered.  
  
"And although Fawkes is very fond of Mr. Potter here, he comes and goes as he pleases. He disappears for months at a time in the winter. I assume he goes south somewhere, but no one really knows for sure. Phoenixes are quite reclusive," Dumbledore said. Ron frowned in frustration.  
  
"Does he have to go south?" Ron asked. Harry noted that Fawkes seemed to be eyeing Ron warily, as if he was about to start chasing him with a net at any moment.  
  
"I would never dream of limiting Fawkes' freedom, Mr. Weasley. It is an honor he keeps me company at all. Besides, phoenix tears are only potent during certain times during the Burning Cycle anyway," Dumbledore said seriously. Ron nodded, but wasn't pleased with the answer.  
  
Harry decided to stand, arms outstretched as if he expected to falter. He did have a moment of dizziness, but it quickly passed. Ron and Hermione stood up as well, smiling at Harry's newfound health. Fawkes chirped once, and left Harry's shoulder to return to Dumbledore's.  
  
"Thanks, Fawkes," Harry said sincerely. He looked at the remaining adults for a moment. He knew the healing of the phoenix tears would not last too long. Already he could feel a prickle of energy along his scar, so he quickly decided to make the most of his renewed health while it lasted.  
  
"If you don't mind, I'd like to go outside and maybe try to ride my broom a little," Harry said.  
  
"Please be careful, Harry. Don't fly very high, keep it slow and above all don't push yourself," Mrs. Weasley, concerned. Harry nodded agreeably. "Perhaps the twins should accompany you, just in case. Has that Reverse Gravity spell worn off yet?" she asked all three Gryffindors. Harry shrugged, and both Ron and Hermione shook their heads.  
  
"I don't think so," Ron replied just as a loud crash shook the ceiling above them. Cursing was clearly audible, but the twins' voices were too faint to hear the words. 'Good thing,' Harry thought as he saw Mrs. Weasley frown in disapproval.  
  
"It is now," Hermione said with a straight face.  
  
"Why don't you fetch the twins, Ron, and see if Ginny wants to join you outside as well?" Mrs. Weasley instructed, glancing at Dumbledore for a moment, who faintly nodded. Harry frowned. So they were clearing out everyone for a talk, were they? Harry sighed. He probably didn't want to know anyway.  
  
As they left the room, Hermione quietly said something to Mr. Weasley, who looked serious but nodded. Hermione smiled in what looked like gratitude and headed towards the back door. Harry grabbed his broom as Mrs. Weasley called, "Could you send in Remus and Sirius when you see them?"  
  
"Certainly," Hermione replied. Harry glanced back once more to the adults remaining in the living room, and squelched his own desire to eavesdrop. He'd listened to the worry in Sirius' voice earlier, and decided that some conversations were better left unheard.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
"I think it's time you hear first hand what Voldemort's been doing over the summer. This is Harry's dream journal," Dumbledore said solemnly. Dumbledore handed Sirius the journal to read first. Everyone's eyes were on him. Sirius took the journal gingerly from Dumbledore, suppressing the guilt he felt at reading something so personal. Well, maybe it was guilt at the eagerness to read something so personal. After all, he'd been desperate to try to understand how to help Harry when he awoke from his nightmares, but Harry was always loathe to talk about them.  
  
"Is there a certain page you want me to read?" Sirius asked. Dumbledore shook his head, his blue eyes solemn.  
  
"Any page will do," he replied gravely. Sirius opened the book, letting the pages fall open randomly. The first thing Sirius noted was how Harry's writing had deteriorated drastically from the notes he'd written last year. Sirius began to read…  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
July13th  
  
I'm in someone's bedroom. Actually, there are two people: a couple. They're really young. Voldemort is already in the room by the time my dream starts. He's taken the man's wand and is taunting him with it. She's terrified. She keeps asking the man… Ted, his name is Ted. She keeps asking Ted what's going on. I don't think she even knows who the Death Eaters are or who Voldemort is, so I'm assuming she's a Muggle.  
  
Voldemort is telling Ted about how wrong it is that he's married a Muggle. She tries to dive for the phone to call the police, but Voldemort freezes her with the Imperious Curse. He… um… he… Headmaster… Voldemort makes her do things with the other Death Eaters, and then with himself. She's crying while it's happening. Two of the Death Eaters are holding the man down. Voldemort says he likes to hear his screams. Her name is Maggie. They're… they're brutal with her, sir. I'd rather not say more than that. I know this journal is supposed to help and all, but… well… I don't see how retelling this dream in detail will help anyone. When he's done with her, he puts her under the Cruciatus Curse. He holds her under it for a long time, and I know he means to kill her with it. And him. Then I wake up.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
'No oh no, oh no, oh no, no, not Harry, not this, oh no…" Sirius realized he'd been thinking over and over. He set the journal down and looked across to Dumbledore, whose expression was solemn, even sad. Sirius watched as Remus leaned over to pick up the journal. Remus' eyes widened the moment he began to read after flipping it open randomly as well.  
  
Sirius felt sick inside, disgusted. He felt horrified that Harry had to experience this, had to talk about this, had to see this. How on Earth was he going to be able to help Harry through this? What could anyone say to reassure a teenage boy who saw people sadistically murdered nearly every night? It was a wonder Harry had any appetite at all. Merlin help him.  
  
"How long?" Sirius asked hoarsely. His voice trembled.  
  
"Two weeks after the Tri Wizard Tournament ended Harry's dreams began," Dumbledore replied gravely.  
  
"Has there been anything of value learned through these dreams? Any important intelligence that we could have gotten no other way?" Remus asked as he handed the book off to Arthur Weasley as if it scolded his hands. "Because I don't see how we can let Harry dream at all, if this is the sort of thing he's been seeing," he continued. Sirius nodded his head in total agreement.  
  
"I agree. There may come a time when we'll need these dreams of Harry's, but for now it is doing nothing but harm," Dumbledore agreed. "Unfortunately, the human mind needs to dream. Even if Severus were to come up with a non-addictive, side effect free Dreamless Sleeping potion tomorrow, Harry would still be harmed. I read the initial reports that came out when Dreamless Sleep was invented hundreds of years ago. Set aside all the known problems with the potion. Subjects with amazing constitutions who hadn't initially been affected any other way still couldn't take more than three or four weeks before their sanity began to be seriously affected. Within two months, most were driven mad," Dumbledore said solemnly.  
  
Arthur Weasley's face was sickly pale as he gave the journal to Molly. Sirius could see the reluctance in his eyes. He did not want to have Molly read it. Sirius couldn't blame him. He wished he hadn't read it himself. Sirius locked eyes with Remus for a moment. This was bad. Far worse then he'd feared… and Sirius had quite an imagination. He knew Harry was witnessing torture and possibly death. He hadn't realized just how many ways, though, Voldemort had for doing it. He should have. After all, the man tried to kill a one-year-old child.  
  
"So how have I not heard about this?" Arthur Weasley interjected. "I know the list of Missing Persons the Ministry keeps has tripled in the last month or so, but I haven't seen anything about murders. How could Fudge keep this under wraps internally?" he asked, directing his question to Dumbledore.  
  
"Fudge is terrified to lose his position. He's surrounded himself with people whose loyalty he doesn't question. Even the Aurors he uses are hand chosen. While everyone is on the sidelines chasing red herrings, his own team is covering up evidence of Voldemort's return," Dumbledore said.  
  
"What about bodies? The houses? The Dark Mark?" Sirius asked.  
  
"The Dark Mark fades in a day. Oblivate the neighbors, and no one is the wiser. Even Unforgivable signatures fade. All Fudge has to do is keep everyone from where the murders were committed for a month or two, and almost all of the evidence will be gone. As for the bodies… I don't know what he's doing with them. But we need to find out. At this point, all we need is evidence that Fudge is perpetuating a fraud on the wizard community, and his term is over," Dumbledore said.  
  
Arthur Weasley nodded grimly and put his arm around Molly as she began to sob. The journal slipped from her hands to fall on the floor. "He can't keep this under wraps forever, though. If nothing else, there are too many loved ones looking for the dead," Arthur said. Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"And that is why I believe he's already putting the pieces in place for a distraction when that happens," Dumbledore said. Sirius felt a chill run up his spine.  
  
"Harry," Sirius said.  
  
"That's right, Sirius. Harry. I believe that is why he's been pushing to have Harry investigated for Mr. Diggory's death. It will certainly keep the Daily Prophet occupied for a while," Dumbledore agreed.  
  
"The Boy Who Lived being investigated for Tri Wizard Tournament champion and fellow schoolmate's death. Page One. The list of missing wizards and witches triples in one month. Page Seven," Arthur said in disgust. "How very brave of Fudge, to offer up the innocence of a teenage boy to save his job," he continued, and Sirius realized how heavily this sat on Arthur's shoulders. Sirius suspected that, as much as Arthur loved his job, he would have quit a long time ago in protest if Dumbledore hadn't needed sources within the Ministry of Magic.  
  
"But we still have time before that happens, right?" Remus asked quietly. Dumbledore slipped his fingers underneath his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose.  
  
"Yes, I believe we still have time," Dumbledore said.  
  
"Then our first priority must be to stop these dreams," Molly said. Her eyes were still red and puffy, but her voice was firm and clear.  
  
"Headmaster?" a timid voice called from the doorway. Sirius spun anxiously in his chair. He watched Remus stand, then change his mind and abruptly sit again. Hermione stood, looking distraught as she saw Molly's tear stained face.  
  
"Yes, Ms. Granger?" Dumbledore asked kindly. Sirius prayed she hadn't overheard much.  
  
"I had an idea I wanted to talk to you about, but I have a few questions before I suggest it. I wanted to ask them when Harry wasn't around," Hermione said, nearly shrinking in on herself at the scrutiny of everyone in the room.  
  
"Please go ahead," Dumbledore said reassuringly.  
  
1.1 "Well, when are these attacks happening? Are there attacks day and night, or just during the night?" Hermione asked in a rush. Sirius stilled in surprise. Clever girl. "I mean… I've seen Harry resting okay during the day. I mean, he still has nightmares, but he doesn't write about them. I think they're normal nightmares, not… not the ones with You Know Who in them," she said. Dumbledore began to smile.  
  
"Out of the mouths of babes…" Remus muttered under his breath. Sirius felt himself nodding enthusiastically.  
  
"You are correct, Ms. Granger," Dumbledore said with a gentle smile. "For now, Voldemort still prefers the shadows. If Harry were to just sleep during the day and stay up through the night… it is certainly a valuable idea. One I suggest we put to use the moment he goes off the Dreamless Sleep potion again. Thank you, Ms. Granger," Dumbledore gently dismissed Hermione. Hermione smiled brightly then spun on her heel and ran out of the room.  
  
"Death Eater attacks used to occur all the time, not just at night," Arthur said, referring to the time before James and Lily's death. Remus and Sirius nodded.  
  
"Very true. Voldemort will not need to remain hidden for long as his power increases. He is growing stronger daily, and soon will be bold enough to not fear the light of day," Dumbledore stated. Arthur nodded.  
  
"And we're making it so easy for him to return," Sirius said in disgust.  
  
"Especially with Fudge working so hard to clean up after him," Arthur said bitterly. "By the time the public knows…"  
  
"That is why it is imperative we find the bodies," Dumbledore said firmly.  
  
"I assume they are already being looked for?" Remus asked. Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"I have others searching, but I need your help as well, Arthur. Please keep an eye out for any suspicious expenses. Mentions of a location you aren't familiar with. Anything odd. There's every possibility you may stumble across something, because if Fudge is nothing else, he is a bureaucrat," Dumbledore said. Arthur nodded, and Sirius could see he was pleased to be able to help. "Just don't risk exposure, Arthur. I need you, so don't take any risks that could jeopardize your position there," he continued. Arthur nodded again, and Sirius watched him squeeze Molly's hand.  
  
"We still have a little time, then. Time Harry desperately needs," Remus said, trying to smile reassuringly at Sirius. While Sirius appreciated it, he was having a hard time not leaping out of his chair and tracking down Fudge to kill him while he ate his lunch.  
  
"So Harry gets three days reprieve with the potion, then we change his sleeping schedule," Sirius said, trying to refocus. It tasted bitter in his mouth to be able to do so little.  
  
"I will also have Severus observe Harry for a couple of days once he's off the potion," Dumbledore said. Sirius knew if he were 'Snuffles' his hackles would be raising.  
  
"What could Snape possibly be able to help Harry with?" Sirius nearly spat. Remus shot Sirius a warning look. 'Respect for a colleague my foot,' Sirius thought to Remus, daring him to try once again to change his opinion of the man.  
  
"I think you would be surprised just how much Severus can help," Dumbledore said with certainty. Sirius had to repress a snort. 


	14. Gifts and Introspection

Kate the Great: I'm not sure about the journal thing. I actually just came up with it on my own. I felt like it wouldn't be something Harry would buy for himself, and Ron certainly wasn't the type to buy for him, so Hermione was the logical choice.  
  
Silentangel, venus4280, Anne, Lynx, ratgirl, m-27, summersun, SpiderGirl05, WeasleyTwinsLover1112, AllAboutMe and Padfoot, Moony, and Prongs 4EVER, CocaCola, Kimmy: Hmmm. Let's see. Thanks as always for the kind reviews. Lots more dreams and scar issues in upcoming chapters. The plot will be picking up now as well. The peace never lasts for poor Harry, does it? Bwah hah hah hah. ahem. Lots of angst ahead.  
  
Japangirlcarley24: I just love it when someone tells me I should publish stuff! *blushes and grins happily*  
  
Tanya: Perhaps… There's a lot more to the dreams than is currently known… 8-) The Snape factor should prove interesting, I hope. You'll see a lot more into his and Harry's interaction. No, they were great plot bunny thoughts. You've already got some insight into where I'm going… But I'll stop there. No sense in giving stuff away. g  
  
aleema_darkrose: Wow, thanks! I really appreciate that!  
  
Author's Note: Thank goodness Fanfiction.net is back up! I have been going INSANE!!! Nope, not an addict. 8-) As always, please review if you can. Enjoy!  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 14  
  
Harry closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of being in the air. For a moment he had been ashamed. When he'd first mounted the broom, Harry wobbled up as precariously as Neville had the first time he'd tried to fly. Hermione had gasped with shock or surprise, Harry wasn't sure which. The shame had quickly passed, though. After all, what is pride in the face of actually flying again? In a not so private corner of Harry's mind, he'd realized it was possible he might not be able to do this again.  
  
The twins were nearby, talking quietly. At first Harry had been surprised they hadn't teased him, considering he was their Seeker, but a glance at Ron's scowl made Harry smile in realization. Perhaps they would have, but their youngest brother's expression had stopped them. It certainly couldn't have been based upon their good judgement, Harry thought wryly.  
  
Harry briefly wondered what the others were talking about in the house, but stifled that thought. 'Just worry about flying. You don't know how long you'll be able to do this,' he told himself. Right on queue Mrs. Weasley broke into his reverie.  
  
"Harry? How about some cake?" she called from the doorway. Shadows milling behind her indicated the discussion must have ended. Harry smiled and lowered to the ground. He ignored the look on her face as he nearly botched the landing. 'Any landing you walk away from is a good one,' he thought ironically. He heard it a long time ago as a pilot's saying. It applied equally as well to brooms. With only slightly rubbery legs he joined Ron and Hermione, tenderly leaning his beloved broom against the house with the others.  
  
"Did you have fun?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded with a smile.  
  
"I did," he replied simply. He felt good. Instead of the overwhelming weakness that kept him from being able to move much, he had the quivering fatigue of someone who had overexerted, or was recovering from a long illness. His steps were small, but confident. For today, he'd pretend he was recovering.  
  
Harry shook his head as he stepped into the Burrow. A cake was on the dining room table. The candles that lit it weren't actually in the cake, but hovered above it. Fifteen. A cake for his birthday. Harry sighed with contentment. It was only the second cake he'd ever received in person. The first Hagrid had given him years ago, when he'd first come to collect him for Hogwarts. Harry missed Hagrid. Hagrid's heart was even bigger than he was, and Harry hoped that the giants (for that's where Harry assumed he'd gone) would treat him well.  
  
"Well, aren't you going to blow out your candles?" Sirius asked, a puzzled frown on his face at Harry's thoughtful silence once he sat at the table. Dumbledore had settled himself in a chair in the corner of the room, quietly watching the proceedings. Ginny stood nearby, her eyes sparkling. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stood behind the twins, who sat across from Harry with large grins on their face. Remus and Sirius sat on one side of Harry, while Ron and Hermione sat on the other. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, and made a wish. Then he took a deep breath and blew out all the candles.  
  
As everyone cheered, and plates began to line up single file for a scoop of ice cream and a piece of cake, Sirius asked, "What did you wish for?" Harry smiled mysteriously.  
  
"I can't tell you, or it won't come true," Harry replied. Mrs. Weasley handed Harry a plate nearly overflowing with chocolate cake. Harry repressed the urge to shake his head. He may have a diminished appetite, but if he were to live with Mrs. Weasley he suspected he would rival Dudley's girth in no time. Once all the plates were filled and handed out, the cake disappeared to the kitchen. In its place appeared a stack of presents. Harry laughed.  
  
'There's nothing better than a magical birthday,' he thought contentedly. The twins had begun to eye Sirius with intent, and Harry watched as a dark look from Sirius sufficiently intimidated them. Even a joking dark look from the escaped convict was a frightening thing. Dumbledore's eyes watched the interaction between the twins and Sirius with keen interest. Ginny's eyes laughed as well. She'd teased the twins ruthlessly about the joke played on them.  
  
Harry looked across at Remus, who watched Sirius with an arched eyebrow. 'He looks tired,' Harry thought, and as if Remus felt Harry's eyes on him, he glanced up and smiled gently.  
  
"Happy birthday, Harry," he said.  
  
"Thank you," Harry replied. He liked Remus, and was glad he was there as well. He and Sirius were good for each other. There were moments with Sirius… moments when Harry wondered if it were possible to have Dementor flashbacks. The look in Sirius' eyes … They'd deaden, flatten out. His eyes held no sparkle, and contained barely any life. Remus wasn't afraid of those moments. Harry watched him as he would gently try to steer Sirius back to safer waters, happier conversations.  
  
Remus had his own burden of sadness. Looking back, Harry had seen it even the first day he met him on the train. The threadbare robes, the painfully weary body of a man faced with agony each full moon for the rest of his life. Remus seemed ashamed of being a werewolf. Harry remembered how everyone had treated him once they knew of his curse. Harry was ashamed of the wizarding world for how they treated him.  
  
Something seemed to come alive in Remus after realizing Sirius' innocence. Harry knew how important Ron and Hermione were to him. He couldn't bear to face the possibility of losing either one. Remus had lost three, nearly four of his dearest friends. Harry closed his eyes against his own fears that threatened to surface. 'Shush,' he thought. Amazing how easy it was to entertain the bad, and how hard it was to enjoy the good while you had it. Harry was glad Remus and Sirius had each other. They needed each other. Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione and saw their own smiling expressions. He smiled warmly in return.  
  
'Just hope you have better luck with your friends,' a dark part in Harry's mind whispered, and Harry had to fight to keep his smile from faltering. Now why did his brain insist on doing that?  
  
But the strain of being a werewolf showed in every fiber of Remus, and twelve years in Azkaban had stripped the youth and innocence of Sirius far harsher than Harry imagined a Muggle prison ever could.  
  
Harry refused to let his imagination go any further when worrying about his own friends. He needed them. As much as pushing them away would likely keep them safe, they had refused in the past, and would continue to do so. And Harry knew deep down that the loneliness that already nearly engulfed him would likely be too much without them.  
  
"So are you going to open your presents or what?" Ron asked Harry, breaking his train of thought to Harry's relief. Ron widened his eyes in exasperation at his friend. 'How can you not be opening these presents?' the look asked. Harry laughed as he finished his cake and set the plate aside. He finished his cake? Harry looked at his plate with wide eyes. Now that was different. Glancing up at Fawkes, still sitting on Dumbledore's shoulders, Harry caught Dumbledore's eyes.  
  
"It's good to see your appetite returning," Dumbledore said. Sirius' face lit up like a Christmas tree as he realized Harry had cleaned his plate, and even Ron snorted. Harry was startled at the stark relief that flashed across Sirius' face for a moment, but as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.  
  
"Alright, Harry," Ron commented. He stood up and began inspecting the presents, clearly impatient with Harry's stillness.  
  
Harry didn't say aloud that he could stare at those presents all day without opening them, marveling that he had any at all. Some days, Harry still had to pinch himself, terrified that if he didn't he might wake up back at the Dursleys. Harry caught a look from Sirius, and realized his face must have reflected his thoughts. He shook his head at Ron and reached out for a present.  
  
"Since you're so impatient for me to open these, which one would you suggest first?" Harry asked Ron. Ron's hand hovered over the table as he turned an inquisitive look towards his mom. Harry frowned. A faint shake of her head directed Ron's roving hand away from an oddly shaped small package to a wrapped, flat package that looked suspiciously book sized.  
  
"Can you guess who this is from?" Ron asked with a glint in his eye.  
  
"Hermione?" Harry asked with a laugh. Hermione mock scowled at the both of them, took the present out of Ron's hand and handed it to Harry.  
  
"Tried and true," she replied primly, but her eyes still laughed. Harry opened the gift. Hexes and Curses of Highly Effective Aurors: Creativity as an Ally against the Dark Arts the title read. Harry raised an eyebrow. Hermione nodded proudly. "I've never heard of a lot of those curses, but they sound wicked!" Hermione said enthusiastically, using a phrase Ron normally abused. Ron snorted. Harry opened the book randomly, his smile widening. "…causes complete paralysis, allowing only respiration and circulation to continue…" his eyes scanned and he looked again at Hermione. Oh my.  
  
"Wow, thanks Hermione," Harry said, feeling empowered holding the book. If he felt confident with his curses since training for the Triwizard Tournament, then this would take him to a whole new level. "Where did you find this?" Harry asked. These spells seemed awfully powerful and advanced for a fifth year to purchase at Flourish and Blotts.  
  
"Umm," Hermione said, blushing. Her eyes darted around her at the adults guiltily, then she leaned forward and whispered, "Gilderoy Lockhart needed some new books…"  
  
"What do you mean?" Harry whispered back quickly.  
  
"Well, it's not like his memory is reliable anymore. I mean, he *could* have ordered this for me… Besides, a lot of people still only know him through his books. They don't know about his... humm… condition," she said wryly, referring to the deflected memory erasing charms he'd tried to use on Harry, Ron, and Hermione that instead had erased his own memories… indefinitely. Harry knew his jaw dropped about a foot. With wide eyes he stared at his friend in surprise. Her blush began to rival ones Ron was capable of, but her expression indicated she was very pleased with herself. 'It was only a matter of time before the Hogwarts' library wouldn't contain her curiosity,' Harry realized, and hugged her. 'Oh course, for Hermione to find deep and true motivation to break rules, of course it would involve books.'  
  
"What is it?" Sirius asked suspiciously, trying to spy the writing on the cover. Harry quickly whisked the book underneath his chair, then effectively blocked Sirius' vision by reaching for another present Ron was trying to hand him. He wished he'd contained his shock a little better. Now everyone was curious.  
  
"101 Habits of Highly Effective Aurors," Harry lied smoothly, remembering a popular title from last year. He nudged Ron, who looked like he was about to correct him, and noticed the other adults nodding except for Remus and Sirius. Dumbledore didn't look fooled, either, but Harry wondered if there was anything that slipped past him. Either that, or he simply had the 'knowing' look down to a science. Harry nearly snorted. 'Where on Earth are these thoughts coming from?' Harry marveled. 'Don't let me open my mouth, or I'll end up as bad as Malfoy,' he thought, then paused. 'Okay, not as bad as Malfoy,' he amended, taking a small package out of Ron's hands.  
  
The box was just slightly larger than a ring box. The wrapping was of tiny birthday cakes, their flames flickering. Harry looked up and saw Ron smiling broadly. Harry's eyebrows arched. 'From you?' his eyes asked. Ron nodded. Harry opened the box, and a miniature golden snitch flew out to hover next to Harry's head. It was about the size of a small rubber ball, and it sounded just a slightly higher pitch than a real snitch would. Harry watched as it began zipping about the room.  
  
"It's a Mini Snitch, designed for Seekers who live in places where the weather is too bad to play in for long periods of time," Ron explained. Even as Harry listened, he couldn't help but follow the Mini Snitch's movements from place to place in the room with his peripheral vision. "It's smaller sized to let Seekers train to notice it, but it hovers and moves like a real snitch so you can catch it like normal. Only it's harder, of course, because it's so much smaller," Ron explained. The snitch was currently to the left of Ron's shoulder, just within reach… In a shot, Harry's hand shot out at he grasped the tiny ball in his fist with a grin. Ron jumped in surprise, and Fred and George hooted. "Bloody…" Ron said, then caught himself as Mrs. Weasley scowled. "You're kind of scary with that, you know?" Ron amended. Harry nearly beamed.  
  
"I know," Harry replied with a smirk. "Thanks, Ron!" Harry said enthusiastically. Ron looked very pleased with himself, then smacked his forehead abruptly.  
  
"Oh, and you can keep it active to remain only in a certain room, or to follow you around wherever you go," Ron added.  
  
"Can you imagine Harry making a grab for that in Potions?" George asked, his face saying he was currently doing so. Harry felt his own face fall.  
  
Hogwarts. How was he going to be able to go to school? Fifth year was less than a month away, and Harry knew the dreams would return. How was he going to be able to go up to Divinations (not that he really wanted to), or down to the Dungeons for Potions when he barely had the stamina to float around the Weasley's back yard? His thoughts seemed reflected by those around him as suddenly the room became uncomfortably silent.  
  
His initial fears at the beginning of summer had been what it would be like to see where the maze had been, to see Cho again, knowing he was to blame for Cedric's death. The end of last year had been awful. Now… He needn't worry about that. Dumbledore cleared his throat and pointed to a shiny bright blue package.  
  
"Perhaps that would do for Harry to open next," Dumbledore said. Ron silently lifted the package and handed it to Harry. The paper looked like see-through saran wrap, but when Harry pulled it open, there was indeed something inside. A tiny golden lapel pin of a stag, with flecks of emerald for each eye. Harry looked at it admiringly. Although he'd never worn jewelry before, the sentiment was keenly felt.  
  
"Thank…" Harry said.  
  
"Actually, that's no ordinary pin, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted before Harry could finish. "That is a portkey. It's been set to go to specific deserted classrooms within Hogwarts. The wards are all still in place," Dumbledore said reassuringly before anyone could ask, "But you will be able to travel to your classes with ease, rather than facing the moving staircases," he finished. Harry was astonished. He'd spent so much time trying to face his fear of leaving his friends and the only home he'd ever really known behind, that he didn't quite know what to say now that in one moment it had been alleviated. He knew his mouth was hanging open.  
  
"I.." Harry said, but couldn't finish. Ron's smile was enormous, and Hermione was discretely trying to wipe her eyes. Ron glanced over at her, her head hanging low, frizzy hair falling all around to hide her face. He leaned into her and bumped her with his shoulder playfully. She laughed, but her voice trembled as she did so, and she sniffled loudly. Harry sighed. He always felt at a loss when she cried. Fred and George gave each other a 'high-five'… 'Now where would they learn that?' Harry wondered. That was a Muggle thing. Remus put a hand on Sirius' shoulder, and Harry realized Sirius' eyes were glistening, too. Apparently he'd been worried about the same thing. Harry knew his own face probably mirrored Sirius'. He couldn't have asked for a better gift.  
  
"There are such things as handicapped wizards and witches. Some injuries cannot be healed by magic. Hogwarts is appropriately equipped to handle these special circumstances, although we haven't had a need for many years. Besides…" Dumbledore said with a mischievous grin, "I think there will be more than a few surprised students seeking solitude for reasons other than study purposes that need to be evicted from those rooms. You will be doing Hogwarts a favor." Harry happened to glance over at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who were both blushing furiously. Dumbledore looked over at them as well, and Mr. Weasley coughed uncomfortably.  
  
"Wow, Harry…" Mr. Weasley squeeked. "Great gift, there." Ginny and Hermione both giggled as Dumbledore watched Mr. and Mrs. Weasley for a moment more. Dumbledore then turned a stern gaze on Sirius, who'd been snickering not-so-discretely.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Black?" Dumbledore asked, and now it was Sirius who blushed. Remus had to cough to cover his laughter. Sirius scowled at him momentarily, then attempted an innocent look. He failed miserably.  
  
"You'll have more to gossip about than Lavender," Hermione said to Harry, her eyes puffy but the tears thankfully abated. Harry shook his head bemusedly. The idea of walking in on people… It didn't sound too amusing to him. He refused to let his imagination go anywhere with that thought, or he knew he himself would be blushing in a moment.  
  
"Open another present, Harry," Sirius stated, and Harry grinned at the not- so-subtle attempt to steer the conversation away from empty classrooms.  
  
"Thank you, Headmaster," Harry said sincerely. His voice was solemn as he looked Dumbledore in the eyes. Words seemed inadequate to express his relief. Fawkes chirped quietly, breaking the tension. Dumbledore smiled warmly.  
  
"What other presents do you have there?" Dumbledore asked, directing Harry's attention back to the table. Ron had picked up another suspicious book-sized package.  
  
"Who's this from?" Ron asked.  
  
"Remus and I," Sirius said.  
  
"Are you sure it's not another one from you, Hermione?" Ron teased. Hermione tossed a napkin at Ron, which he deftly avoided while handing the package to Harry. Harry smiled at both men and quickly unwrapped the gift. Quiddich throught the Ages was the title, and the cover showed a game of Quiddich being played with brooms that looked like they belonged in the 1800s. Harry smiled gratefully.  
  
"Open it," Sirius prompted. Harry did so, and the text on the inside of the book said something quite different. The Animagus in All of Us by Katrina Feral. Harry thumbed through it eagerly. Step by step instructions, no less, on becoming an Animagus. Ron had been reading over Harry's shoulder and nearly exclaimed his enthusiasm, if Harry hadn't kicked his chin discretely.  
  
"Sometimes it's helpful that an opponent not know all ones capabilities," Remus said, his expression unreadable as he glanced at Sirius. Sirius' own expression spoke volumes.  
  
"Thank you both," Harry said, grateful they were in his life. "A lot," he added, and they seemed to understand Harry's thanks was for more than the gift. Sirius nodded, and Remus smiled.  
  
"Whoah," Ron said as he picked up an enormous box wrapped in fluorescent orange, pink and blue. Pictures of clowns ran across the paper throwing confetti, which was actually falling outside the present to collect in a now rather large pile on the Weasley table.  
  
"And by those colors, I cannot fathom how you could not know who that is from," Ginny said ironically. Harry glanced up at her. She still stood in the corner, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed in front of her, a wry smile playing on her face as she watched the twins. They positively squirmed in glee. Harry laughed as he accepted the box, holding it gingerly away from his face.  
  
"I don't know if it's wise to open it," Harry said, not entirely joking.  
  
"Oh, go on," George said with a stern look reminiscent of Professor McGonagall.  
  
"It's nothing bad," Fred promised. Harry looked him square in the eye for a moment, trying to gauge his sincerity. Nodding after a moment, Harry tore the paper open and lifted the lid on the box, suppressing a flinch. Nothing exploded. That was a good start. Peering inside, the box was filled with many smaller boxes, baubles and packets of all sizes and colors. Harry frowned as he glanced inquisitively at the twins.  
  
"Samples, Harry. For our new joke shop. Consider yourself a beta tester. Each joke comes with instructions and even a suggestion or two for optimal results," George said proudly. Hermione's mouth now hung open in surprise.  
  
"Beta? Optimal? Okay, you're scaring me," Hermione joked with the twins. They smiled broadly.  
  
"We take jokes very seriously," George said. Fred nodded solemnly. Harry knew the Triwizard winnings couldn't have been better spent.  
  
"It looks like there is only one more," Ron said, picking up the odd shaped package he'd nearly grabbed first. Ron handed it to Harry solemnly, and Harry glanced around as the rest of the Weasley clan approached closer to the table.  
  
"Open it, Harry," Ginny said with a smile. Harry did so. It was a small vase. Harry peered inside and saw…  
  
"Floo powder?" Harry asked. The Weasleys were nodding.  
  
"Actually, follow me," Ron said, grabbing Harry's elbow enthusiastically. Harry winced in pain as Ron's fingers pressed into the injury Pettigrew gave him. Ron's hands pulled back quickly, his eyes dark with sympathy. "Sorry, mate," Ron said, then grabbed Harry's sleeve. "Come on!" He said and bounded up the stairs. Harry followed more slowly. Everyone else in the room stood up and followed as well. Ron was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet at Percy's door, hand on the door handle, waiting for Harry. Harry held his arm close and had to fight the urge to press the crook of his elbow. It burned. Damn Pettigrew, anyway. As Harry walked up to Ron, Ron looked over his shoulder as if waiting for a cue. Nodding when apparently he received one, Ron threw the door wide open. Percy's room was… different.  
  
Harry had seen Percy's room before. It was meticulously clean, with a shelf for all his school books. Pictures of his family decorated his wall in a mural style Martha Stewart would be proud of (Aunt Petunia owned every single one of her books). Percy had only a couple of posters that were mainly of wizarding authors Harry had never heard of. A few trophies had sat on Percy's desk that Harry never had the chance to see what he had gotten them for.  
  
But Percy's room looked totally different now. Splashed across every wall were Quiddich posters of all the currently popular teams. The bed, normally so flat and sterile looking with white sheets and a brown woolen blanket, was now covered with a down filled duvet comforter, and a quilt Mrs. Weasley must have made. The walls, once tame and mellow, were bright Gryffindor colors. Harry's trunk lay at the foot of the bed, along with Hedwig's cage. Harry felt a chill run down his back as he stared in shock at what the Weasleys seemed to be showing him.  
  
"The floo powder is our version of a house key, Harry," Mr. Weasley said from behind, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. His voice was low with emotion.  
  
"You know mum's already practically adopted you," Ron said, nodding his head in the room. Harry stepped inside, his legs feeling jerky as he looked around him.  
  
"Percy moved out a while ago, you know," Ginny nearly had to yell from behind the twins. Comically, she was leaping to catch glimpses of what was going on from over Fred and George's shoulders.  
  
"It's the best this room has looked in a long time!" Fred said enthusiastically. George nodded.  
  
"We know you'll want to stay with Sirius when he's cleared, Harry. But that doesn't mean we can't offer you a home in the meantime," Mrs. Weasley said, her voice alternating in pitch oddly as she tried to keep from crying. "The floo powder is so you know you will always have a place here," she said solemnly. Ron watched Harry with an intense expression on his face, his eyes searching Harry's. Harry knew tears now did flow down his face.  
  
"Oh, give him a hug!" Fred said, his own voice suspiciously tremulous as he tried to mock the moment. Ron crossed the room in a heartbeat, grabbing Harry up in a big hug.  
  
"Now I'm not the only target in this house for Fred and George's antics!" Ron said, letting go of Harry abruptly, eager for the awkwardness to quickly pass.  
  
"What about Ginny? Don't they play tricks on her?" Harry asked, grateful for the light banter to allow him to recover.  
  
"I think they're afraid of her. It must have something to do with her being the youngest and able to get away with anything," Ron replied with a snort. Harry glanced at Ginny in surprise. She had finally shouldered the twins to the side and stood proudly next to her mom. The quirk of the side of her mouth and the knowing nod indicated she agreed with Ron. Harry had a hard time imagining the twins thinking twice before pulling pranks on anyone. Although he knew it was only a matter of time before they felt that way about Sirius. He still hadn't told them about the Marauders. Harry had to admit it was too much fun to watch them plot and scheme, knowing they didn't stand a chance against Sirius.  
  
A room of his own. A normal room, with posters and… He could put things on the walls. He could keep his trunk out. He could sit with Hedwig and not worry about anyone seeing her. He could do homework whenever he wanted. A gift like this was too much.  
  
Harry took in the sight of the Weasleys standing around him expectantly. Fred and George were grinning broadly, as was Ginny. Mrs. Weasley was sobbing openly, and Harry let her grab him up in a crushing bear hug that Harry speculated could have rivaled one of Hagrids. She held him close, and Harry closed his eyes, letting himself be held, comforted. In his heart he knew there was no refusing this gift. He just prayed they didn't live to regret it.  
  
Harry glanced over at Mr. Weasley as Mrs. Weasley finally let him go, absentmindedly trying to straighten his hair. His face held a strange expression. Harry almost thought he read guilt there, along with affection and pride. Harry realized that although he was fond of Mr. Weasley, he didn't know him that well. The look in Mr. Weasley's eyes was the most candid Harry had ever seen them. It wasn't the eyes of a man bemusedly fond of his son's best friend. This was the expression of a man who cared for Harry. Who wanted to see Harry happy and healthy. Much to Mr. Weasley's surprise, Harry hugged him as well. He seemed stiff for a moment, then pulled Harry close, thumping his back soundly.  
  
"You don't ever have to go back to them. You hear me?" Mr. Weasley whispered quietly in Harry's ear before letting him go. "Your place is here," he said solemnly. Harry nodded. The 'Awwws' coming from the twins was finally too much. Harry hugged them both, much to their embarrassment, then Ginny as well. She blushed furiously as she stepped away, her eyes suspiciously watery, but didn't say anything. Harry suspected her composure might crack if she did.  
  
"Well, enough of this! I say let's have more cake!"  
  
"Agreed. But before Harry joins you, I'd like to have a word in private with him," Dumbledore said. Harry watched as everyone headed downstairs. Sirius and Remus both kept looking over their shoulders as they left, clearly not wanting to do so. Sirius especially seemed keen not to let Harry out of his sight. Dumbledore closed the door and gestured for Harry to sit on the bed. "There are a few things we must discuss," Dumbledore said, his face solemn. Harry shifted uncomfortably. This didn't sound good. 


	15. The Article

Disclaimer: Harry Potter. Still not mine.  
  
Author's Note: I've been sitting on this chapter for weeks now. Thank goodness ff.net is finally back up. How I've missed it! It's been so temperamental lately, that I've sorely missed reviews. So here's my renewed enthusiastic pitch to read and review! Enjoy!  
  
Chapter 15  
  
"Harry," Professor Dumbledore began. then paused and turned to look at the door. With a raised eyebrow, he cast a silencing spell on the room. Harry nearly smiled, curious who had remained outside the door. "There is something I need to discuss with you," Professor Dumbledore continued. Harry watched as Professor Dumbledore dragged a small chair from the corner to the middle of the room.  
  
"Yes, Headmaster?" Harry asked as Professor Dumbledore sat, blinking owlishly over the rims of his glasses.  
  
"As you remember from the end of last term, Fudge is loathe to admit Voldemort has returned," Dumbledore said. Harry nodded, suppressing a shiver. The memory was clearer than he liked. "The Minister of Magic has been so determined to keep Voldemort's name out of the public eye that he's been keeping the attacks you've been dreaming about secret." Harry sat, frozen in shock. There'd been so many people killed. How on earth..?  
  
"Sir, how can he keep this a secret? Won't relatives or friends leak this to the press? This is just the sort of thing Rita Skeeter lives for," Harry replied. He realized his arm throbbed painfully still from when Ron had grabbed it accidentally earlier.  
  
"Ah, but they don't know what's happened either," Dumbledore replied. Harry frowned.  
  
"How can that be? I've seen what's been done, sir. Even if they don't know *who* did it, surely."  
  
"No, Harry. They don't know that *anything* has been done," Dumbledore said solemnly. Harry stilled, his eyes huge.  
  
"He's covering it up? No one even knows they're dead?" Harry whispered in horror. Dumbledore nodded. Harry wrapped his arms around his chest in a failed attempt to fend of the chill seeping through him. "Then Fudge is not acting alone," Harry said flatly. Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"But he won't be able to keep Voldemort a secret forever. He may be able to cover the murders up for now, but there are still people missing," Dumbledore said. Harry suddenly knew exactly where this conversation was going.  
  
"And once news of the missing wizards gets out, he's going to try to cover up even more, isn't he, sir?" Harry asked woodenly.  
  
"Yes, he is," Dumbledore said. Harry looked into Dumbledore's eyes. They didn't twinkle. There was no mirth or happiness there. They were solemn and sad.  
  
"And you think he's going to somehow try to tie this to me?" Harry asked. He still wasn't sure how that could be, but he'd vividly remembered to the look on Fudge's face. He may have been in denial over Voldemort's return, but he clearly blamed Harry for everything that had gone wrong.  
  
"He's been kicking up quite a fuss at the Ministry over Cedric Diggory's death," Dumbledore said. Harry closed his eyes as unbidden memories threatened to overwhelm him. "Harry?" Dumbledore asked gently. Harry opened his eyes, pushing the dark images aside. After all the deaths he'd seen, the memories of Cedric and the graveyard had become no less vivid or devastatingly painful.  
  
"Is he going to accuse me of murder?" Harry asked in a flat voice. He turned his eyes once again to Dumbledore, and almost thought it looked for a moment as if Dumbledore flinched. Then he nodded.  
  
"I believe so," Dumbledore replied. Harry closed his eyes. "But, you have choices to make. This is why I asked to speak to you in private," Dumbledore continued.  
  
"Choices?" Harry asked.  
  
"I have created two portkeys, one for you and one for Sirius. At the first sign of trouble, you are to use them immediately. You will arrive at the Shrieking Shack, and we'll determine what to do from there," Dumbledore said. Harry was reassured that he wouldn't be arrested, but then replayed Dumbledore's words in his mind.  
  
"You said I have a choice, sir?" Harry asked. Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"You do. As soon as the Aurors arrive, by using the portkey you can go into hiding with Sirius. But if you were to stay when they came, and let the Aurors arrest you, they would likely give you Veritaserum," Dumbledore said.  
  
"But that could be good, couldn't it? The questions they'll want answered won't get the answers they want to hear, but." Harry said speculatively, an odd combination of sheer terror and optimism running through him at the same time.  
  
"The fact is, Harry, that they shouldn't give Veritaserum to anyone under 18. But it won't matter, after all the laws they've broken already. Veritaserum isn't a pleasant experience under normal conditions, but." Dumbledore was explaining. Harry raised a hand.  
  
"Please, sir. Will it kill me?" Harry asked. Dumbledore shook his head.  
  
"I do not believe so," Dumbledore replied. Harry nodded, his mind remembering what the fake Mad Eye Moody's behavior was like once he'd been given the serum.  
  
"If I took it, would it guarantee they believe my answers then? I know Minister Fudge doesn't now," Harry said.  
  
"I believe even if Fudge doesn't, others would," Dumbledore replied. Harry pondered the ramifications. If he could talk about how Voldemort had risen, about what really happened at the Shrieking Shack.  
  
"That means they'd learn Peter Pettigrew is still alive," Harry said, his voice hushed. With proof that Pettigrew was alive, maybe they would clear Sirius' name. Maybe. Or maybe they would cover it up, like they had everything else. Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"As I said, it's a possibility," Dumbledore replied. Harry looked down at the floor, biting at his lip deep in thought. "You do not need to make this decision now. But it is something to consider. You understand of course why I couldn't say this in front of the others." Dumbledore explained. Harry knew all too well.  
  
"Sirius would never allow it," Harry stated.  
  
"Fudge has gone to considerable lengths to cover up these deaths. I cannot say how much further he will go. It could all go horribly wrong. To be accused of murder, or as an accomplice. Harry, once you're in their hands there is little I can do to protect you," Dumbledore said. Harry suddenly realized that Dumbledore didn't want him to do this, not really.  
  
But Dumbledore knew Harry would do it. For as desperate as Dumbledore was to unite the wizarding community against Voldemort and quit living in denial, Harry was to see Sirius a free man. To live with him during the holidays; to be able to go to Diagon Alley with him before term. The idea of meeting Sirius at the Hogwarts Express instead of the Dursleys was a powerful image.  
  
But it was a huge gamble, Harry knew. And so far, luck had been both for and against him. He knew there was no way to predict which way his arrest would go. But if Harry ended up with the Dementors, he knew he couldn't survive as Sirius had. Unless. first thing tomorrow morning Harry vowed to begin studying intently to become an Animagus. Ron and Hermione would help him, he knew. They'd probably want to learn how to do it themselves anyway, Harry thought warmly. Plan for the worst but hope for the best.  
  
"If I stay, how will we get Sirius to use his portkey?" Harry asked, trying to think of every angle now, while he had Dumbledore as a captive audience. That was the other thing Harry had to consider. He wouldn't take any chances on Sirius' future if Sirius could get caught, too.  
  
"Remus will take care of Sirius," Dumbledore reassured.  
  
"But we have to find a way to keep him far from the Ministry as well," Harry said thoughtfully. He missed the strange expression that crossed Dumbledore's face. "Pettigrew. If I did this, it would be because of Wormtail and my hope to prove his continued existence. If he could find some evidence against Wormtail to get to the press. Even if you can't get me out and everything goes wrong. I could still help free Sirius," Harry speculated. But to look for Wormtail meant Sirius might also run into Voldemort. That was not a possibility Harry wanted to face. Dumbledore remained silent, his face still. "Wormtail does a lot of scouting for Voldemort. If you could insure Sirius only tries to track Pettigrew when he's on his own.?" Harry asked Dumbledore. Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"Your dreams have been a good indicator for when he's gone. We can certainly try to determine a pattern as to why and predict where he might go next from there," Dumbledore reassured. Harry felt a little better about that.  
  
"Thank you, sir. I will consider my options," Harry replied, although in his heart he already knew what he'd do. After all, the wish he'd made as he blew out the candles on his cake was for Sirius to be acquitted and free. Dumbledore nodded and patted Harry's knee gently.  
  
"How are you feeling?" Dumbledore asked after a few moments.  
  
"Fine," Harry replied. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. Ah. He expected an honest response. "My scar burns all the time now, and I'm really tired. But I'm much better than I was," Harry replied. Perhaps a bit of an optimistic description, but close nonetheless.  
  
"Well, Percy Weasley will be arriving for dinner, so we must be off to remind Sirius to stay out of sight," Dumbledore said, standing up. Harry smiled thinly.  
  
As generous a gesture as Percy's room was, Harry wasn't looking forward to more of his questions. Weariness was beginning to make his eyelids droop. Sighing, he stood up only to be gently pushed back onto the bed again. "Harry, why don't I send Sirius up, and you take a nap before dinner?" he suggested, and Harry knew it wasn't really a hint, it was an order. Harry smiled tiredly at Dumbledore. "I'm sorry you have to make these sort of choices at all," Dumbledore said softly as he pulled back the covers and Harry slipped out of his shoes and socks. He was so surprised at the words, he didn't say anything in return.  
  
********************************************************************  
  
Ron watched with a scowl as Dumbledore came downstairs, catching Sirius' eye. He and Hermione watched as Sirius bounded upstairs in a flash, then came back down as Snuffles, glancing at them briefly with a faint tail wag before trotting outside. Ron stood to go visit Harry, but Dumbledore shook his head.  
  
"Sorry, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger, but Harry's taking a brief nap before dinner," Dumbledore said, then smiled gently before leaving to join Ron's parents in the kitchen. Ron nodded, glancing at Hermione. The corner of her mouth quirked in a combination of annoyance and relief. They'd been dying to hear what Dumbledore had wanted to talk to Harry about, but were also glad to hear he was resting.  
  
"Mum?" a voice called from the fireplace. Percy had arrived. Ron shot him a dark look, which Percy briefly acknowledged. He had his briefcase in hand and a newspaper tucked under his arm and managed to look very self- important and self-conscious at the same time. Not an easy combination to achieve.  
  
"In here, dear," Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen.  
  
"Your mum's been cooking for hours now," Hermione said to Ron as Percy went into the kitchen at the same time Remus slipped out the back to join Snuffles. He gave Ron and Hermione a slight wave before he disappeared.  
  
"Snuffles cut that close," Ron observed quietly.  
  
"He hates leaving Harry alone," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Really, we all do. That was a really beautiful present for your family to give," she said, changing the subject. Ron blushed. The idea had been his, originally. Once Percy moved out, it just made sense.  
  
"I think he liked it," Ron said vaguely. Hermione snorted.  
  
"Of course he liked it," she said, shaking her head. Voices began to rise in the kitchen. Ron frowned at Hermione, and in unspoken accord, they both stood and crept towards the kitchen to better hear what was being said.  
  
"You can't be serious," Arthur Weasley was saying, and his voice sounded constricted and tense.  
  
"I'm sorry dad. They just wanted to see what Harry has to say about it," Percy said.  
  
"There's no way I'm going to let you question him, Percy. He's gone through enough. This is insane. What is Fudge thinking?" Arthur asked.  
  
"Dad." Percy said softly. The kitchen stilled. "I have to," he said. "If I don't. Fudge won't be satisfied. He might send someone else."  
  
"At least not today, Percy. It's his birthday," Molly Weasley said, and Ron and Hermione looked at each other in horror. That meant he *was* definitely going to question Harry.  
  
"I'm sorry mum. I'll do it after dinner. He goes back on the Dreamless Potion tonight anyway, right Dad?" Percy asked. Ron felt a snarl cross his face and almost stalked into the kitchen himself if Hermione hadn't grabbed his arm and held him back.  
  
"Consider Harry's reaction and its ramifications carefully before reporting to Minister Fudge, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore's voice drifted out of the kitchen. Footsteps indicated the conversation was moving. Ron and Hermione scrambled back to sit on the couch, then at the last moment, Ron changed his mind.  
  
"Hermione, come on. Let's warn Sirius about what Percy's going to do," Ron said quietly.  
  
"You don't think he might reveal himself, do you?" Hermione whispered as they slipped out into the dusk. The evening was cooling now, and a visible layer of bugs hovered near the creek. Ron and Hermione stopped in the center of the yard and looked around. Neither Remus or Snuffles were visible, of course.  
  
"Ron? Hermione? It's time to eat!" Molly Weasley called from inside.  
  
"We'll be right there, mum!" Ron called. "Remus? Snuffles?" he whispered fiercely.  
  
"Here," came Remus' voice from near the creek. He was sitting with his back propped against the tree, similar to the way Harry had been days ago. Snuffles sat next to him, his tongue lolling to one side lazily.  
  
"Sirius," Ron said hesitantly. "Remus. Percy's going to question Harry after dinner," he blurted, unable to think of a better way to break the news. The last vibrant colors of the sunset had begun to dim, and in the encroaching shadows, Sirius growled dangerously.  
  
"He doesn't want to do it. Dumbledore is still there, so I don't think it will be too bad," Hermione tried to reassure. Remus was making to stand up, but Hermione held out a hand. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to go in yet," she said. Remus frowned.  
  
"Percy's suspicious as it is. Even though he gave Harry his room, he *is* still about to question him for the Ministry of Magic, isn't he? It's best not to make him curious why you haven't been around much when he's there," Ron said. He couldn't believe the disgust he felt towards his own brother. The worst part was, he suspected Percy thought what he was doing was the *right* thing.  
  
"We'll let you know as soon as he leaves, Sirius, but please stay out of sight. It's not like Percy's going to hurt Harry with all of us around," Hermione tried to reassure them both.  
  
"Ron?! Hermione?!" Mrs. Weasley called out again, annoyance evident in her voice.  
  
"We've got to go. We'll let you know the moment Percy leaves!" Ron promised, and ran back to the house with Hermione close on his heals.  
  
Dinner was an uncomfortable affair. Harry was still bleary eyed from his nap, and the larger appetite from earlier was gone. He nibbled at the meal tiredly, aware of the tense silence that shrouded the table. Ginny, Fred, and George kept watching everyone curiously, as they hadn't been privy to the argument in the kitchen. But they knew something was going on, and it made them uncomfortable. Hermione and Ron tried polite chatter, which Harry was trying hard to participate in, but he was failing miserably. He was obviously distracted, *probably by whatever Dumbledore wanted to talk to him about*, Ron thought, and withdrawn. Dumbledore was apparently intending to stay at the Weasley house until Percy was done with his questions, for which Ron was profoundly grateful. If nothing else, even Fudge respected Dumbledore.  
  
As the evening wore on, Harry began to press his hand more and more often against his scar, as if it pained him. Ron felt himself blanch at the thought and the twins kept exchanging glances. *Some birthday dinner, huh, Harry?* Ron thought, and wondered when he'd be able to find a moment to warn Harry about the upcoming questions.  
  
"Is that all you're going to eat, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked, breaking the silence and nearly startling Ron off his chair. Hermione looked flustered as well. Harry glanced up distractedly, noticing his hand on his forehead, which he quickly let drop back on to his lap. Dumbledore was eating in silence, his eyes watching Harry.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley, it was really good. I guess I just had too much for breakfast," Harry said apologetically with a gentle smile. Mrs. Weasley smiled back reassuringly, but Ron didn't miss the determined gleam in her eye. Ron suspected she intended to make Harry need new robes by the end of holiday, and shook his head. So long as *he* wouldn't need to get new robes as well.  
  
The twins had done something freakishly kind for Ron: they'd bought him new dress robes. After daring to try them on at home (fully expecting to them to turn clear, or into girl's Muggle clothes, which they didn't), he began to really look forward to being able to wear them. The robes were a royal blue, and the fabric felt both thick and soft at the same time. He'd never paid much attention to fabric before, but Ron could suddenly understand how someone could want to wear robes like these *all* the time. He knew it made his eyes stand out handsomely. the girls who worked at Madam Malkins over the summer had squealed pleasingly when he'd tried it on. He couldn't wait to show Hermione, and found himself wishing for another Yule Ball despite his own terror of all that came with it.  
  
"Are you tired, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked softly. Harry nodded. Mr. Weasley locked eyes for a moment with Percy for a moment and cleared his throat. Ron cursed silently that he hadn't had a chance to warn Harry yet. They were going to do it now. At the dinner table. "Harry? I'm afraid Percy has been sent by the Minister to ask you a few questions," Arthur said. Harry stilled, his eyes wide. Ron was almost sure it was fear he saw. Ron noticed the glance Harry shot at Dumbledore, who almost imperceptibly shook his head. What was that about?  
  
Percy took out the newspaper he'd brought with him and spread it out in front of Harry. The Daily Prophet front page appeared to be nothing but pictures of people. Ron couldn't quite read the caption at the top, but he felt a chill run up his spine at the expression on Harry's face.  
  
"Do you recognize any of these faces, Harry?" Percy asked quietly.  
  
"Wait a minute!" Arthur cried out angrily. "You were going to ask for more information about what happened with Cedric Diggory!" he said, standing up to grab the paper from in front of Harry. But he froze, as did everyone, at the expression on Harry's face.  
  
Harry stared at the faces in front of him, people he knew, and began to hear screams. A chorus of screams, *their screams* filled his mind as he looked at the pictures of the dead. Photos taken during happier times. People smiling and laughing at the camera, playing with their families, waving to relatives, playfully nudging friends. Thoughtful, introspective shots of people doing their favorite hobbies, visiting their favorite vacation spot. Harry suddenly felt cold and chilled.  
  
"Do you know where these people are? Does anyone know what's happened?" The caption read. Harry stood up jerkily, not even noticing how the chair crashed to the floor. He was shaking uncontrollably. A distant echo of voices were calling his name, but he couldn't hear them through the screams. The faces looked up at him so innocently. Yes, he knew what happened to many of them. He'd seen them die horrible, painful, torment- filled deaths. Hands on his shoulder tried to steady Harry, but he shook too hard. He jerked out of reach, his eyes still locked on the newspaper as he backed away. He nearly tripped as he backed into something, then turned and fled up the stairs.  
  
Too many people. There were too many faces. and he'd watched, damnit! He'd watched the worst moments of their lives. Harry ran for the bathroom, nausea and grief causing him to throw up everything in his stomach until he was left dry heaving, his head throbbing painfully and his eyes swollen nearly shut. His stomach spasmed as he desperately tried to quell the heaves. He was sweating profusely, and shook with sobs he wasn't even aware of. It was one thing to see a new face each night, but it was another to see them all together. How many pictures graced the newspaper? 50? More? Harry felt a hand on his back rubbing up and down soothingly as he rested his head against the cool porcelain of the loo. Voices still buzzed behind him, but Harry couldn't discern what they said for all the memories that drowned them out. All their screams.  
  
Closing his eyes, Harry remembered one woman in particular. an older woman with kind eyes. "Oh child, wake up," she'd said. She'd seen him. How could she have seen him? Harry followed that line of reasoning, grasping at it desperately; allowing his memory of that one dream to silence the others. Thankfully, it seemed to dull the screams in his head. He hadn't *actually* been there, and certainly no one else had seen Harry before or after. How had she?  
  
Harry closed his eyes and felt his body collapse. He was vaguely aware of someone tenderly picking him up. A warm wash rag wiped the sweat off Harry's face. As his desperate gulps of breath eased to a deeper, more relaxed level, Harry wondered what made it different for her to see him when no one else had. Harry's last conscious thoughts were that perhaps he could play a more active role in these dreams than he'd thought. She'd seen him once. He'd try to figure out why, and see if maybe, just *maybe*, he could do something other than just die a little each night. Even one life saved. It was more than Harry had dreamt for a long time of being able to do. Harry's thoughts spiraled into welcome nothingness as a furious Arthur Weasley carried Harry to bed.  
  
*******************************************************************  
  
Sirius sat next to Harry waiting for Mrs. Weasley to return with Dreamless Sleep potion. Percy left minutes after Harry had collapsed, as had Dumbledore. Sirius had been waiting for the 'all clear' with a sense of foreboding, and was grateful Ron and Hermione warned him what had been about to take place. No one had expected Percy to accuse Harry of complicity with the recent disappearances, though. Arthur's voice, instead of rising in anger, had dropped to a dangerous hiss. He'd followed Percy back to the Ministry and was fully intending to have words with Fudge, as it had become clear that Fudge had instructed Percy as to what to ask and how to go about doing so.  
  
Molly had frantically called Sirius and Remus back inside. Dumbledore stood solemnly at the fireplace, preparing to leave.  
  
"Did you know this was going to happen?" Sirius demanded of Dumbledore.  
  
"I did not. But it is not unexpected. It is, however, sooner than I'd anticipated, so I must be off to make preparations," Dumbledore said cryptically. Sirius looked at him intently for a moment, but Dumbledore threw floo powder into the fireplace to return to Hogwarts. The conversation was clearly over.  
  
Sirius looked down now at Harry closely. His skin had a grayish cast and was shiny with sweat, although he was shivering hard enough that his teeth occasionally chattered. Ron and Hermione had already been in the room when Sirius arrived. Ron looked furious, and Hermione had clearly been trying to keep him calm.  
  
"What happened?" Sirius asked softly. Ron stood up and handed Sirius a newspaper he hadn't noticed before.  
  
"I can't believe you brought that in here!" Hermione hissed.  
  
"I'm going to read it later. Mum would have thrown it out. I had it out of sight. I would never have let Harry see it, but we need to know what this was about, Hermione, and you know it," Ron said quietly but fiercely in return. Sirius glanced again at Harry. His eyes were closed and his breath relatively even. Sirius opened the paper up and knew immediately what had happened. Voldemort's victims.  
  
Remus stood behind Sirius, glancing at the paper over his shoulder. He inhaled sharply. "Merlin. Poor Harry. Happy birthday," he said bitterly. Sirius nodded, white hot rage building inside him at the callousness of Percy's behavior towards Harry.  
  
The next time Sirius saw Percy Weasley, he was fully intended to inflict bodily harm. If his time in Azkaban did nothing else, it taught Sirius that weak minded individuals were the worst of all. Evil could be predictable, but cowardice and the refusal to make up your own mind could strike anywhere, at any time. At this moment, Sirius knew that Harry was in far more danger from Fudge and Percy than he was from Voldemort.  
  
"These are the people he's been dreaming about, isn't it?" Ron asked Remus and Sirius quietly. Remus nodded. "I think I'll switch rooms with Harry tomorrow," Ron said after a moment. Hermione, who had begun to straighten the sheets around Harry now stilled, staring at Ron in surprise.  
  
"Why?" she asked.  
  
"Because it's wrong that the gift we gave him is the room of the one to do this to him," Ron said furiously, pointing at Harry lying in bed. Sirius ran a hand through Harry's hair, trying to soothe his tremors. Harry's eyes snapped open as Molly hurried up the stairs.  
  
"Sirius?" he asked, frowning at least in part because Hermione had taken off his glasses. Sirius placed them back on his face.  
  
"I'm here," Sirius said warmly. "How are you?" he asked.  
  
"I'm sorry about earlier." Harry said, embarrassed.  
  
"Don't be. You didn't know Percy was going to do that, the prat," Ron said with a snarl. Harry shook his head.  
  
"No, it's not that. I don't know why I reacted like that," Harry said.  
  
"What did happen, Harry?" Sirius asked.  
  
"As soon as I saw their faces. The dreams came back to me. I try to forget them, Sirius, I really do. I figure that since I write them down. It's enough. I've done my part, and I shouldn't carry it around. But it's silly to think I can forget, I guess. Of course I can't. But when I saw all their faces. I knew there were a lot of victims. My journal is certainly thick enough, right? But to see their faces and know so many of them. It was like all the dreams came back. only instead of coming back one at a time, they overlapped. All I could hear were their screams, and I." Harry said, and stopped, at a loss for words to describe what he had been trying to do.  
  
Sirius pulled Harry up in bed and into his arms. Harry's thin arms were surprisingly strong as he wrapped them around Sirius' chest. Harry didn't make a sound, but Sirius could feel the warm wetness of silent tears soaking his shirt.  
  
He locked gazes with first Lupin, then Molly. She still had the cup in her hand. She raised an eyebrow questioningly. Sirius glanced at Harry's night table. Molly nodded and set it there, then glanced over at Ron and Hermione.  
  
"I think we should all let Harry get some rest," Molly said. Ron and Hermione clearly didn't want to leave, but they stood up anyway.  
  
"See you in the morning, Harry," Hermione said gently.  
  
"No dreams tonight, buddy," Ron said, trying to reassure Harry, then turned and left the room, quietly picking up the newspaper that had been sitting beside Sirius and taking it with him.  
  
"See you in the morning, Harry," Remus said gently, and closed the door behind him leaving Sirius and Harry alone.  
  
"Some birthday, huh?" Sirius said with a disgusted shake of the head.  
  
"It was actually. I got some terrific gifts, and I got to be with friends. It's the best birthday I've ever had," Harry said, pulling his face away from Sirius and discretely wiping his face before looking at Sirius. Sirius realized he meant what he'd said.  
  
"Are you up to getting some rest now?" Sirius asked gently. Harry nodded.  
  
"Yeah, I'll be okay. I'm sorry." Harry began to apologize again, but Sirius placed a finger against Harry's lips to *shush* him.  
  
"No apologies necessary. For any of us. Just get some rest and feel better. That's the best thing you could ever give us, okay?" Sirius asked gently. Harry looked up at Sirius as he handed him the drink, and the candid expression on Harry's face nearly froze Sirius.  
  
"I don't think you realize how important you are to me, Sirius. I thank God, or Merlin, or whomever every day that you came into my life. Thanks for a great birthday," he said earnestly, and Sirius fought to keep the lump in his throat from turning into full blown tears. Sirius' smile was a bit watery as he reached out and slipped Harry's glasses off of his face just as Harry turned his attention to the potion, drinking deeply. Sirius caught Harry as he fell back into the pillow and tucked the blankets around him, his heart racing as he tried to get his own emotions back in control before facing the others.  
  
"As you are to me, Harry. As you are to me. Sleep tight," Sirius whispered, and feeling daring, tenderly kissed his godson's forehead good night. 


	16. Enter Snape

Lady Foxfire: I can't tell you that! 8-) It's a surprise.  
  
Nicky: You rock. Thanks as always for everything. Your insight and input are simply amazing!!!  
  
Punkpixie87: I absolutely agree.  
  
Kate the Great: Now, that's an idea. Veritaserum Dumbledore. Hmmm. Although it has amazing possibilities, I can't help but think he's too powerful for something like that (politically as well as magically).  
  
Abby, Kimmy: I know. Poor Harry. Percy's such a prat at times!  
  
Hyper Princess, Michelle, Mo, Elizabeth Bathory, SpiderGirl05: Thank you very much! blushes  
  
Slytherin Sweetheart: No time for romance here, sorry. Harry's just trying to stay alive. 8-(  
  
Author's Note: As promised, here's Snape! I've done him in a different perspective than everyone else, and kept him present tense, so do keep that in mind. It might jar a little as you transition from his perspective to someone else's, but you'll see why I needed to do that in later chapters. He's so complex. I hope you enjoy. Thanks as always for reading, and please review!  
  
Chapter 16  
  
I floo into the Weasley living room and instantly itch. Suppressing a shudder at even having to stay in the same home as the Weasley brood, I glare at the man brushing distractedly at his dingy robes before me. Remus Lupin had evidently been sitting on the couch when I arrived. He looks exhausted as he wearily stands, a wry smile on his face as he gazes at me. His robes are threadbare as ever, and his face has a grayish pallor. Of course, within two days he'll be covered in gray fur and no longer be bipedal.  
  
"Lupin," I greet as I hand over his latest batch of Wolfsbane Potion. He accepts the flask with hands that tremble slightly.  
  
"Thank you, Severus," Lupin says gratefully, setting the potion on a high shelf nearby. *Undoubtedly to keep it out of reach of the human bludgers,* I think, recalling how everything the Weasley twins touch becomes damaged or destroyed. I don't reply. "I thought you would arrive once Harry has gone off the Dreamless Sleep potion," Lupin asks distractedly as he heads towards what appears to be the Weasley kitchen. "Tea?" he asks over his shoulder.  
  
I overcome the urge to immediately pull out my own satchel of tea. Grateful that the water will be boiled before I drink it anyway, I decide to go wild and have some of theirs instead. I have food rations for a week should I be forced to use them, although Albus promised that no ridiculous Canary Creams or other absurd jokes will be thrown my way by the twins while I'm here to help Potter.  
  
"Now, Severus. I know how impatient you are with the Weasleys, but I must ask you to be on your best behavior." I recall my Headmaster's gentle admonishment. Hurmmm. Best behavior indeed.  
  
I'd actually just gone to sleep after a particularly frustrating session of potion making. Damn Peeves anyway. If he weren't already dead.  
  
"Albus felt that after the Daily Prophet article Voldemort might escalate his attacks, or at least increase their frequency," I reply by way of explanation, sitting in a kitchen chair as Lupin sets the kettle on the stove.  
  
"As soon as you have a moment, I'd like you to take a look at him, Severus. I fear he might be nearing saturation," Lupin says softly. I feel my back stiffen at those words. So soon? Surely he could last longer than this.  
  
"He's fifteen. He should last another month or so," I say reasonably. Granted, he's always been a runt.  
  
"You'll have to see for yourself, then," Lupin replies cryptically. I yawn while glaring at his back. "Were you told what happened?" he asks. I raise an eyebrow.  
  
"Just that something happened to him while he was at his relatives' house, and that his dreams have gotten dangerously bad," I reply. I think this is the longest I've gone without insulting the man. I should get a medal for it. Granted, it's far easier being personable with Lupin than Black. If I last the night without hexing him, I think I should apply for sainthood.  
  
"His injuries have for the most part healed, but he was abused, Severus. That's why we took him out," Lupin says softly. I still for a moment. I must have misheard.  
  
"His relatives? The ones who've kept him since he was one?" I ask stupidly. This isn't right.  
  
"Yes," Lupin replies softly.  
  
"Were they cursed? Was security breached?" I ask, still puzzled. It has not escaped my notice just *who* it was who took him out of his home. I've been bothered why Hogwarts staff wasn't involved in this. Clearly if Voldemort has found a way around the defenses Dumbledore has set up then Potter *shouldn't* have been brought here, but rather straight to Madam Pomfrey.  
  
"No. No curses. Evidently the Dursleys have always abused Harry," Lupin replied. I know my jaw has dropped, but he has the decency not to turn around confrontationally. He keeps his back to me as he floats two teacups from a cupboard and onto a tray next to the sugar, honey and milk. Lupin snatches the pot off the stove before it can whistle a ridiculous tune (the first few notes before Lupin grabbed it sounded suspiciously like 'It's a Small World'. Glad he stopped it, or I would have blasted the thing. )  
  
"Potter has been abused?" I repeat, stunned. This is unexpected. Of all the childhoods I'd thought The Boy Who Lived might have, this isn't it.  
  
"Yes. Quite badly," Lupin replies and turns at last to set the tea set in front of me. I pour my tea distractedly, frowning.  
  
"And no one knew?" I ask, still bewildered.  
  
"No. No one knew," he replies. I sip the tea, having forgotten to add a few lumps of sugar. It's scalding hot and bitter, but the pain against my tongue helps to lift me out of my befuddled state. In all fairness, it is three in the morning, and I have had all of two hours of sleep.  
  
"Not even Weasley or Granger?" I persist in asking. Lupin looks up at me as he pours his own tea. He frowns, and I see he's losing patience.  
  
"He was locked in his room. When we found him, he was horribly bruised and beaten, with strangulation marks around his neck. He's malnourished, although Molly's trying desperately to rectify that. Haven't you noticed how small he is for his age? Neither Lily or James were," Lupin states flatly. His pupils have dilated and I realize there is far more *not* being said as well. I feel the hair raise on the back of my neck. Albus most certainly told me none of this.  
  
"He's a little old for abuse to start at fourteen. no, fifteen. So what caused it to begin this year?" I ask. Lupin looks truly angry now, which in itself is a frightening thing. He may be beloved of the rest of England, but I will always be able to see the wolf underneath, and remember with painful clarity just how much he terrifies me.  
  
There is a reason why werewolves are ostracized from wizarding society. No matter how you slice them, there is still a monster underneath. But even as my hands tremble, I refuse to accept that Potter has had an abusive childhood. Albus surely couldn't have let that happen, could he? He wouldn't do that to a child, an innocent child. *Especially his beloved Harry Potter,* I think with surprising bitterness.  
  
"I saw where he slept. I could smell the pain and blood. It's in the walls, the floors, it permeates from every fiber in that house. Harry keeps trying to make us think it only happened this year, but I know better. I have no doubt that it has been happening since he first moved in with the Dursleys," Lupin said with certainty. I sit there for a while sipping at the tea he's given me. I certainly have to rearrange my analysis of Potter's response to things, it seems. How cheering. Have I been deliberately cruel to a boy who's been abused all his life? I nearly snort into my tea. Merlin, even trying to be good I make a better Death Eater. Let's kick the boy while he's down, shall we?  
  
"Considering his size is due to malnourishment, there are potions that Madam Pomfrey may not know about. I'll visit with her as soon as I return to Hogwarts and make sure there isn't more we can do for him," I say after a moment, pleased at how calm my voice sounds. *Down, boy,* I think as I watch Lupin calm himself, but my snide remark doesn't even comfort me.  
  
"Thank you. I felt you needed to know *why* Harry might already be at saturation. Because it's going to affect any potions we give him," Lupin says. "Would you like to examine him now?" he asks as he sets his empty teacup aside. I nod and stand. "Sirius is up there," he warns me. Charming. I grunt noncommittally, but slip my wand a little closer to my wrist in case I need it.  
  
I follow Lupin up the stairs and rub my thumb and forefinger against the bridge of my nose. I think the colors of the Weasley house are giving me a headache. And that's with its occupants asleep. At the end of the hallway, Lupin opens a door and steps inside, holding it open for me as well.  
  
We step into a room filled with Quiddich memorabilia. Flags and posters were scattered on all four walls of both the Hogwarts house teams and the World Cup teams. Two walls had been painted bright red, and two a gold yellow. Gryffindor's colors. Lovely. Potter's owl sits on a perch in the corner of the room, eyeing me suspiciously. I officially decided to escalate that headache up to a migraine. A bed is tucked into the corner of the room, and I can see the back of Black as he leans forward, tenderly brushing the hair off of Harry's forehead and pressing a washcloth against it. I can't really see the boy yet, but I can hear muffled whimpers. Frowning, I step forward as Black turns. I'd laugh in different circumstances. I've never seen a face transition from fear and concern to venomous rage so quickly. He leaps up from the bed and strides across the room to plant himself in front of me, effectively blocking my view of Potter. I frown as I realize Potter's dreaming and am oddly disappointed. After all I've heard about these dreams.  
  
"So these are the famous *nightmares* Potter has? Rather anticlimactic," I say. Black bristles before me, and I swear he begins to growl.  
  
"No, Severus, this is Harry on Dreamless Sleeping potion," Lupin says softly behind me.  
  
"Impossible. You *can't* dream." I protest. This cannot be.  
  
"Oh, but he is," Black says, his eyes deadly. If circumstances were any different, we would duel to death in a heartbeat. And I'd be glad for it.  
  
"Sirius, let him examine Harry. It'll be easier to do it now, while he's asleep," Lupin says gently. I know he's trying to diffuse the tension, but he still annoys me. Sirius glares at me for a moment longer, then pauses to look searchingly into my eyes. What on earth the convict is searching for I have no idea, but after a few moments he steps aside.  
  
I approach Potter and notice that he has indeed lost considerable weight. He looks shockingly more like he did first year than at the end of last year. His skin color is grayish, and his face is covered in sweat. His hair is plastered against his skull, and his scar shows up brightly against his forehead. In fact, it looked painfully raw, as if it were infected, and even as I watch it, blood seeps from it.  
  
"He's dying, Severus. It's quite serious. If we cannot find a way to provide some relief for Harry, I am not sure how much longer he can withstand this onslaught," Albus had told me earlier. My mission here was simple, really. Create an entirely new potion with the ability to not only suppress dreams and visions, but curse scar connections as well. The fact that I'm aware of only one such connection is irrelevant. There are many potions out there that suppress dreams and/or visions, or both easily. But all these potions have already been tried on Potter unsuccessfully. Once more into the breach.  
  
I frown as I glance at his skin, and pinch the flesh on his neck hard, carefully looking at the successive colors the now reddened skin turns.  
  
"Stop it! What are you doing?" Black asks angrily as he steps forward. Lupin restrains him thankfully.  
  
"Sirius, I asked him to check for saturation," Lupin explains.  
  
"And that's how you do it?" Black asks him. Lupin nods.  
  
"He's looking for discoloration. Normal skin when pinched whitens first as blood is pushed away from the surface. In saturated skin, reddish blue hues will also show up as well. I thought I might have seen it, but as I've only read about how it should look." he says and I can feel his inquisitive glance on my back. I nod but do not turn. I'm taking Potter's pulse now, and feel his heart beating like a rabbit's. His breathing is shallow, and for someone on a Dreamless Sleep potion, he certainly appears to be dreaming. His face contorts, as if in pain, and I can feel him tense underneath my hand.  
  
"He is saturated. He won't be able to continue with the potions as originally planned," I say, then turn to look at Black.  
  
"Why? What can it hurt? At least on the potion he doesn't remember his dreams. It still offers him a measure of protection," he says, and his voice has gone up an octave in distress. I shake my head.  
  
"Do you know what the side affects are, Black?" I ask him. He looks frustrated and frowns, shaking his head.  
  
"I remember something about long term exposure being severely bad, but I would hardly qualify this as long term exposure," Black persists.  
  
"Permanent memory loss. Long term memory damage. He'll remember a conversation for a day, but the next day you'll have to start again. It attacks the synapses of the human mind in such a way that they misfire. He may lose memories from his childhood. If you're lucky, he'll at least retain that, but he won't be able to retain anything beyond what he's already learned. Schooling won't matter. He won't be able to recognize anyone new, because the next day they'll be strangers again. Is my picture clear enough for you to realize the importance of this?" I demand. Could he go *just a little longer*? Phah. Too much is too much, and in potions precision is everything. Black looks appropriately bleak. My message has been received then.  
  
"Okay. Starting tomorrow we'll set to work on having him sleep during the day then," Black says resignedly towards Lupin. I raise an eyebrow inquiringly, but they are both ignoring me.  
  
"You know everyone will be more than happy to help with that, Sirius," Lupin reassures, then sees my glance.  
  
"I understand you need to witness these nightmares and the damage they do in action, but we cannot do this strictly for observation's sake. They are too hard on Harry. We are going to try to get Harry to sleep during the day and stay awake at night to avoid them," Lupin explained. "It appears you'll be stuck here until several occur." He states, but means it as a question. I nod, silencing my own impatience. The sooner I see the effects of his dream, the sooner I can begin working with my potions to try to help him. *I* don't think they're doing much of a favor for the boy by making me wait.  
  
"Has he always had dreams while on the potion?" I ask curiously. As much as I dislike the boy, his case is intriguing and unique. I relish challenges and am eager to begin on this one - back in the peaceful haven of a dungeon which is my home. Black shakes his head.  
  
"This is only the second time," he responds. I realize with a start that we've managed to have a civil conversation. "Have you read his journal?" Black asks abruptly. I shake my head. For some reason, Albus refrained from having me read it. In fact, he seemed a bit ashamed about it, which of course piqued my curiosity.  
  
"No, I haven't. I've been told of the nature of it's contents, though," I reply. I would dearly have been interested to read it firsthand. I'm well aware of what Voldemort considers *sport*. I suppose that reading Potter's journal could make his plight more real me. For now, although his condition is obvious, I have to struggle not to let my perceptions of the boy slip back into what they've always been.  
  
"He watches as Voldemort kills nightly," Black said, and his normally blue eyes have turned black, dilating with accusation. So much for a civil conversation. "He witnesses what Death Eaters do, Snape," he says. My own shame, and the guilt I stare at myself in the mirror with are not for him to judge.  
  
"We all have done things we're not proud of," I reply vaguely, suddenly fatigued. I'm tired of this conversation.  
  
"Yes, but only some of us have killed innocents," Black says, his voice dangerously low.  
  
"Perhaps Potter here hasn't," I respond, knowing I've gone too far even as I've said it. Lupin turns chalk white, with bright spots of red on each cheek. Black lunges for me abruptly, his fist connecting with my jaw before I even know what's happening. *Odd,* I think. I've become so used to people trying to hex me that I forgot to protect myself against the obvious punch. Something to tuck away, I remind myself even as I fall back against Potter's owl cage. It clatters to the floor, and me with it. In an instant, I'm ready. Let's finish this. My jaw pops painfully as I stand and I grind my teeth in anger. Self righteous bastard.  
  
"Sirius?" a voice calls faintly from the corner of the room. It's Potter. He's staring at all three of us, glaring at each other and ready to come to blows. Well, perhaps not Lupin, although in retrospect I feel slightly bad for including him in my insult. Monster that he is, he wasn't accusing me of anything. Only Black was.  
  
"Harry?" Sirius asks, his face and voice abruptly changing from rage to concern blindingly fast. "Why are you awake?" he asks, and I can see Potter frowning, his gaze unfocused. He reaches over to his nightstand and puts on his glasses. Ah, yes. The boy's blind as a bat.  
  
Potter's shockingly green eyes take in Black's quick stride back to the side of his bed. I've always felt his eye color seemed oddly unnatural. Although his color matches Lily's exactly, hers were never as bright. I've had to refrain from dimming the candles in Potions class just to satisfy my own curiosity to see if they glow.  
  
In a way, I think it's why I prefer to see the emotion in Potter's eyes when I provoke him. When his eyes are normal, inquisitive, or quietly observant, I sometimes feel as if he sees too much of me. As if he knows the part I played in his parents' death. As if he knows the reason why my wizard's debt to him is twice as strong as it ever was for James.  
  
He watches as Lupin rights the owl cage, and finally his eyes rest on me. I'm not sure what I expected his response would be when he first saw me. Rage, perhaps. Anger, discomfort, even embarrassment. I've certainly inflicted all of these emotions on him. But what I see in his face is something quite different. He smiles wryly, and I could almost swear I see relief in his eyes. Now I know it's time to go to bed. I'm seeing things.  
  
"I recall some sort of truce between you two," he says dryly, his voice still barely audible. His sense of humor in this situation astounds me. I would think he'd be horrified to see his godfather coming to blows with me. Or at least rooting his godfather on.  
  
"There is," I reply, and I hear Black mumble something under his breath. Harry looks up at Black, and I freeze as a chill goes up my spine. His expression is most certainly not that of a child, or even an adolescent. His eyes are far too old for his face.  
  
"Sirius, he's here to help," Potter admonishes him like a child. Sirius sits on the edge of his bed and I hear a faint apology. To him. Not to me. His eyes begin to droop. The potion isn't completely worn off then. As his eyes fall closed, he glances at me.  
  
"That was unkind," he says faintly, admonishing me. I say nothing. In fact, I'm fascinated at the range of expressions that now cross his face. He struggles to stay awake, but it's only a matter of moments before the potion takes him under again. "Miss me?" he abruptly asks cheekily. I'm stunned, and attribute his odd behavior to the potion.  
  
"As I'm losing yet another holiday dealing with the messes you get yourself into, Potter, I must give an unequivocal no," I respond.  
  
"Who would have thought it's a full time job keeping me alive?" he asks, and drops off to sleep, his smile fading to a grimace. We're all silent now, staring at each other. Lupin is the first to collect himself. He opens the door, his face cold. My comment earlier has stung him.  
  
"Let me show you where you'll be staying," Lupin says. I nod and follow.  
  
********************************************************************  
  
Harry opened his eyes, and groaned softly as he did so.  
  
"Harry?" Sirius asked, his hand touching the side of Harry's face tentatively. Harry nodded and peeled his eyes open.  
  
"I'm still tired," he said, frowning. Is this what a hangover feels like?  
  
"I'm sorry, Harry, but we can't let you use the Dreamless Sleep tonight," Sirius said, a scowl on his face. Harry closed his eyes wearily.  
  
"Why am I so tired?" he asked Sirius. Sirius sighed and helped Harry sit up.  
  
"You dreamt," Sirius replied. Harry stared at his godfather.  
  
"Have I before?" he asked. Sirius nodded.  
  
"Once," he replied. Harry gulped.  
  
"So I guess that's it," Harry said, sighing. He felt discouraged and weary. Images of the newspaper still burned in his mind. Waves of guilt and grief threatened to overcome him for a moment. Whispered voices threatened to become a scream again, but quickly Harry remembered his resolution from last night. This time he'd try to do more. Notice more. Do something. The voices blessedly fell back into silence.  
  
"Harry?" Sirius said, his voice concerned. Harry opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed.  
  
"Yeah," Harry replied.  
  
"We'll get through this, Harry," Sirius said solemnly and placed his hand on Harry's. "You're not alone," he promised. Harry nodded, his eyes burning with unshed tears. He was so tired. He'd had a good day yesterday. He just wished it was as easy for him to recall the love and joy of realizing all that had been given to him as it was to remember those faces from the newspaper.  
  
'Okay, stop feeling sorry for yourself,' Harry scolded himself. Abruptly Harry was pulled into a hug. Surprised at first, Harry didn't respond, but slowly he relaxed and allowed his arms to snake around Sirius, feeling the strong thud of Sirius' heartbeat against Harry's face. He felt so warm and alive. Harry sighed heavily, allowing himself to relax in Sirius' arms. 'This is what I need to focus on. The living, not the dead,' Harry thought and allowed his eyes to slide closed. Sirius continued to hold him, and even as he drifted to sleep Harry felt the security of Sirius' presence. 'Yes,' his last clear thoughts were, 'He's worth risking everything for.' Harry stood by his decision, although the handkerchief portkey in his pocket was still a comfort.  
  
*******************************************************************  
  
Remus sat at the table. Arthur looked at the object in his hand, then placed it in his pocket thoughtfully.  
  
"I understand why and will do as you ask, but. are you sure it will happen?" Arthur asked. Remus looked up and smiled gratefully as Molly placed another cup of tea and a plate of scones in front of both himself and Arthur before joining them at the table.  
  
"I feel it's a real possibility," Remus replied.  
  
"I pray you're wrong," Arthur said after a moment's pause, his eyes thoughtful, then turned to Molly. "How's our other houseguest?" he asked. Molly laughed.  
  
"I don't think I've ever seen someone so completely discontent. He looks at our home like we're diseased. It would be quite disturbing if his expressions weren't so comical," Molly replied. Remus looked at her in surprise. "What?" she asked Remus.  
  
"I normally don't think of him as comical," Remus replied. Molly shook her head.  
  
"He's a terror in class, and I know he torments poor Harry especially. But he's a gifted Potions Master. I've heard it from too many people not to believe it. And despite all the bad, he's trusted by Dumbledore. I don't take his behavior personally, because, well, he's like that with everyone. If he insulted me only, maybe I'd feel differently, but I guess it just seems like that's his nature," Molly replied after a moment.  
  
"Wait till he says something biting to Harry. Then we'll see how casual you are," Remus said after a moment. He smiled as he said it, but he knew it was true. She'd respond far differently if Severus were cruel to Harry. Of course, those were much different circumstances.  
  
"True, Remus. But hopefully it won't come to that," Arthur said. Then he coughed uncomfortably, his eyes darting towards Molly.  
  
"Should I leave?" Remus asked. Arthur shook his head, then smiled wryly.  
  
"Well, um, Ron wants to switch rooms with Harry," he said after a moment.  
  
"What on earth for?" Molly asked, stunned.  
  
"He doesn't want Harry staying in Percy's room after what he did to him," Arthur said after a moment. Molly stilled, and Remus dearly wished he'd left anyway.  
  
"Well, I can't say as I blame him for being angry. I'm furious with him myself. But that's no excuse for being petty," Molly said after a moment's thought. Arthur nodded.  
  
"I told him as much, but I thought you should know. He's determined, so keep an eye on him. He might have everything switched over before we know what's happened, especially if he enlists the others' help," Arthur said after a moment. Molly nodded.  
  
"Sirius looked exhausted when I saw him briefly this morning, Remus. Didn't either of you sleep well?" Molly asked. Remus nearly choked on his tea. That was a subtle way to say he looked bad as well. He smiled at Molly.  
  
"No. Harry still had dreams last night, and Professor Snape confirmed that Harry's nearing saturation," Remus said, reluctant to break their good mood.  
  
"Oh dear," Molly said quietly. Arthur nodded.  
  
"Well, then let's plan on a schedule for the next week or so. How long before Harry can go back on the potion again?" Arthur asked practically.  
  
"I don't know. I suppose we should find out today or tomorrow," Remus replied. Molly nodded.  
  
"Well, everyone else should be waking up shortly. I'll get on breakfast," she said and stood up, but not soon enough for Remus to miss the tears threatening to fall.  
  
"Have you heard from the Ministry at all this morning?" Remus asked. Arthur shook his head.  
  
"No, but I would like to believe no news is good news," he replied.  
  
"So would I," Remus said. "So would I." 


	17. Sports are Important

Lynx, Harriet, PVipertooth, Phoenix, erin (it's coming. Really!),Hyper Princess, Tense, Caitlin, Sou, venus4280, Kate the Great, SpiderGirl05, Endriago Luna, Lizard, summersun, Tempest Princess, kapies, Japangirlcarley24, Kayla Summers, and Bianca: Thank you for all your kind words and comments. I *really* appreciate reviews! As requested - Here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!  
  
Mihoshe: Certainly!  
  
Kaydee: Thank you so much! blushes I love Snape, too! I had no idea how much fun he'd be. He really dominates the chapters, too. I don't mean for him to, but he's just so complex! 8-)  
  
WeasleyTwinsLover1112: Saturation means that Harry can't have any more of the potion for now because it's reaching toxic proportions within his body.  
  
Tanya: Good questions! Hopefully I'll begin to answer some of them soon.  
  
Nicky: Thanks for the review, and as always thanks for your amazing beta reading!  
  
Chapter 17  
  
This is absurd. The boy keeps reading and rereading Quidditch through the Ages like it's Muggle scripture! I've been watching the boy and his friends now for three days. I haven't hexed them. I've only *moderately* insulted them (my restraint now knows no bounds). All in all, I'm not sure if that's bad or good.  
  
Since Potter's bizarre comment before falling asleep nearly four days ago, I keep catching him looking at me strangely. I'll let my eyes wander (those Weasley twins are flirting with disaster if they think I will not retaliate to any foolish pranks they devise. We're not on Hogwarts grounds now, and they will *deeply* regret messing with a Potion's Master if they decide to disregard their promises to both their parents and Albus) only to find Potter staring at me. He has the oddest look on his face. I've tried to call him on it. Ah hah. And will try to do so again.  
  
"What, Potter, do you find so fascinating?" I snarl in annoyance. I am here to be observing him, not the other way around.  
  
"Nothing, sir," he replies. Weasley and Granger stare at the two of us nervously. They rarely speak above a whisper, determined to make sure I hear nothing of their discussions. I do, of course. Please. But their talk is vague enough not to allow me to clue in to what they're really discussing. It's quite annoying, really, to be able to eavesdrop so effectively but garner no more useful information than I have. And what's with this Quidditch through the Ages book? How much more boring can one text be? I'd rather reread Hogwarts, A History. Far more interesting stuff there.  
  
"Then why do you persist in staring?" I ask, placing my observation out in the open.  
  
"I didn't realize I was," he says softly, his eyes sliding off my face to return to Weasley and Granger. They practically slump in relief. Yet another confrontation avoided. It's just not fun to pick fights with invalids. They've caught him watching me as well, but I can tell by the fleeting, frustrated looks they exchange that they know no more than I what is going in that boy's head.  
  
Over these last few days, I've had to come to the realization that Albus is right. Potter's health is failing rapidly. Tools we've utilized so far do nothing but mask the greater problem. Voldemort is at full power again. The throbbing in my forearm has not been a summons, for which I'm thankful. But I remember well when my arm last pulsed like this. Back before Halloween in 1981. During Voldemort's prime. My mark, my ridiculous folly, had burned as the attacks had increased. As they are increasing now. He's gaining confidence. Multiple attacks throughout the night, coordinated attacks. The more Voldemort utilized the Dark Mark back then, the more his strength, his stench thrummed through us, letting us know how pleased he was. How confident Voldemort was. and is.  
  
It's as if no time has passed. It's been oddly haunting in a way, in the company of Black and Lupin. Every once in a while I'll see Potter's eyes gleam that unnaturally bright green color and think *Lily*. Then his glasses reflect in the light, and the eyes that held no face or body suddenly contain *his* body. James. The hair which is never tamed, the stark look of honesty and integrity. All those things that just made me want to slap him upside the head. But it's not James, it's his son. A tiny boy who looks more like a thirteen year old than fifteen, whose gaunt features show none of the cherubic youth that adolescents should have.  
  
Potter's strength drains day by day. He tries to sleep, but fails often. He evidently is a light sleeper anyway, and startles easily. I may be silent in my observations of him. The rest of the Weasley household seems physically incapable of producing anything beside a stomp as they traverse the hallway and stairs. Even silencing charms fail to hide how the floor shakes. Herds of elephants walk more softly.  
  
He is plagued by normal nightmares as well. Though I don't know the actual events, I know the Triwizard Tournament haunts him. He speaks often to the boy Cedric Diggory in his dreams. Their conversations appear unpleasant.  
  
After finally witnessing one of the famous Potter visions, I realize I would have been much happier not having done so. I had thought it would take the boy accidentally falling asleep during the night for me to witness it, but such was not the case. Things are escalating quickly. Voldemort is now attacking during the day as well.  
  
It's excruciating to watch. First he begins to whimper. Then the thrashing occurs as he appears to try to resist whatever compulsion takes his dream self to wherever Voldemort is. The stillness that happens next is oddly what chills me most. His whole body is tense, and his breath is uneven and panicky. This must be when he becomes acquainted with the victims and discovers just what their fate will be.  
  
I've come to recognize which of the Unforgiveables he witnesses based on what happens next. Sometimes his whole body convulses and the screams that tear from his lips burn into me. Do I sound like that? I certainly know the Cruciatus Curse when I see it. Oddly though, the Imperius Curse is just as hard on him in a different way. He begins to whimper again, but now tears leak from his eyes as well. Tears of shame and sympathy. Sometimes I can garner enough from his muttered words to know some of what he sees. and am so shamefully grateful not to be included in this disgusting ritual of Voldemort's. He begs for it to stop, pleads for mercy, but I know that will never happen. Whenever Potter awakens from these dreams, the first thing he does is vomit.  
  
I'm not quite sure how much Potter is protected, buffered from these spells. It appears as if he feels them as much as Voldemort's victims, yet that cannot be so. Otherwise Potter would already be dead. But watching this debacle day after day is frustrating to say the least. Nothing helps.  
  
Black is falling apart. He's unkempt and haggard. He hardly leaves the room day or night to stay with Potter. In fact, the man desperately needs to take a shower. He reeks. He fawns over the boy ridiculously, and I have to suppress the urge to sneer as he helps him down the stairs at night, or tries to coax one more bite of food into him. I'm not clear why I respond this way. It's as if I cannot reconcile all that I perceived Potter to be with what I'm learning he is. I don't like to feel this way. I may revel in being cruel. After all, I've been given a gift. The gift to injure. But even I do not like kicking a dog when it's down. Unless it's Black, of course. Or Neville Longbottom.  
  
I've taken to baiting Black, but he's been oddly reticent. It's disappointing. There's no catharsis like a good fight, and Merlin knows how frustrated I am at my lack of success with the Potter boy. Lupin sits with me often. He rarely speaks. I know he must still be angry with me for the comments I made in Potter's bedroom the night I arrived, but he doesn't let it show. Only his lack of attempt to dialogue with me is an indicator at how upset he is. I cost the man his job. Why on Earth he would even still try is beyond me.  
  
Tonight Lupin looks at me strangely, though. He's only just joined this little melodrama occurring in the Weasley living room. I'd tried a relaxation potion on the boy today to try to counteract his own terror of sleep. It had been an unqualified disaster. As his body spasmed with the Cruciatus Curse, muscles spasmed too easily. With no defense, Potter's limbs caused a great deal of damage both to himself and his surrounding environment. namely Black. I hate convulsions. They strip away all pretense of control to reveal the vulnerability underneath. Too often my poise has been stripped away with the Cruciatus Curse. It's infuriating. and damned difficult to retain my dignity after writhing and screaming on the floor. Even if it is also a great equalizer if your fellow Death Eaters are on their knees as well.  
  
Black's godson gave him a double shiner that I simply couldn't resist commenting on this evening. It wasn't much, and in truth it was in poor taste, but I had hoped my latest potion would have helped at least a little, and the failure still tastes bitter on my tongue.  
  
I know now that there's nothing I can custom blend here that might aid him. Only the tomes in my dungeon can help now, and whatever I try on him from here in will be far more complicated. and *riskier* than I've ever tried before. Nice as it is to have a human subject to test things on right away, I only get a few shots at success before Potter fades completely. Lovely.  
  
"Stop it," Lupin says abruptly, quietly beside me, interrupting my reverie. I start in surprise. I wasn't doing anything. Lupin glances at Black. He has drifted off to sleep at the moment in the corner.  
  
It's odd to watch him wake, I've discovered. Black doesn't gradually waken. One moment he's asleep, the next he isn't. The expressions in his first moments of wakefulness are fascinating. Unguarded looks, some of which I recognize as fear and panic sprawl across his face before he asserts himself and regains control. Sometimes I wonder what my face shows when I awaken in the morning.  
  
"Stop what?" I ask blandly. Potter and his lackeys are whispering amongst each other again. Discussing that blasted book. They remain oblivious to us.  
  
"Baiting him," Lupin replies, nodding his head towards his slumbering friend.  
  
"They have Quidditch. I have Black. Sports are important, you know," I say, nodding my head toward the young Gryffindors.  
  
"Don't be absurd. He's trying. You're not. I thought you respected the Headmaster more than that," Lupin says crossly. I don't like being scolded. Especially since he's got a point. Black has been trying. hard.  
  
"I do. It's just." I say, and realize I don't know what comes next.  
  
"It's frustrating for all of us, Severus. But Sirius has enough on his plate, and your behavior isn't appropriate. Amuse yourself privately. Harry's dying in front of us all, and watching you entertain yourself at his distraught godfather's sake is obscene," Lupin says. I'm stung by his scathing words. Ouch. I'm also shocked at Lupin's up-until-this-point unknown ability to verbally assault me. Unable to find an appropriately witty response, I simply glare. It's not nearly as effective.  
  
Potter's eyes are on me again. I feel the heat rising in my face and find myself hoping he didn't hear Lupins' words. Oddly, it's because I hope he didn't hear his admission that Potter is indeed dying.  
  
Relaxation potions of all sorts, induced comas, all levels of vision suppression draughts (there are plenty out there), unconsciousness potions, thought suppression draughts. the list goes on. I've tried them all on the boy, and suspect I've inflicted some horrific moments on him in the process.  
  
But each concoction I give the boy, he still willingly drinks. The expression in his eyes is of trust mingled with dread as he looks at me, trying to suppress the disgusted grimace at the flavor. He tilts his head back, trying to throw as much of it past his tongue as possible. If he lives to see adulthood, I realize he'll make a fine hard liqueur drinker. Potter's apparent faith in me makes me feel ill, truthfully. There is a very real possibility that I could kill him. I'm shooting in the dark. his nightmares. and those visions could very well become the last thing he sees.  
  
I find myself spending a great deal of time in the fruitless wish that none of this had ever happened. When the most interesting part of my holiday was researching some remarkably obscure and ancient potions text. When I didn't hold The Boy Who Lived's life in my hands.  
  
It's time for me to leave, I realize. I've seen all I can see. I turn to face Lupin. His face remains cool and impassive.  
  
"I should return in two days time with hopefully more useful potions," I say coolly to the werewolf. I stand, and suddenly feel the silence in the room. All three of them are watching me as I prepare to leave. "Potter, I'll return within several days. Try to stay alive until then, would you?" I ask dryly, well aware how inappropriate my joke is. Lupin cringes at my callous words. Harry smiles faintly.  
  
"I'll try," he replies wryly, although his eyes remain dark. I realize I'm now racing against both his failing health and flagging hope. I levitate my trunk behind me and ignore the glares of all in the room save Potter. He simply watches me with interest as I throw the floo powder in the fireplace and step through. I finally admit to myself that I find it damned unnerving that he finds me so interesting, but am too proud to confront him about it. Considering what he's seen, perhaps I don't want to know *what* is so intriguing.  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
Ron took in a deep breath of relief as he watched Snape leave. It had been torment having him at the Burrow. All this time Ron and everyone else were trying to keep Harry's spirits up, keep him happy and distracted, and then there was *him* in the corner. Skulking. Brooding. His glittering black eyes missing nothing, observing everything. His thin lips compressing into disapproval or disgust. If he smiled, Ron knew it was at someone's expense. Ron hated having Snape at home. For more than just the obvious reasons.  
  
Ron knew each deeply personal, treasured moment, each idiosyncracy, each individual thing that made his family and his home important to him was being catalogued away for later ridicule. Hell, Ron even went so far as to wonder if Harry's suffering was being filed away for the same reasons. It wasn't much of a stretch to picture Snape mocking Harry's illness. If Harry lived.  
  
Ron's heart fell. This was it. This was the truth he hadn't dared to breathe a word of to Hermione when Harry slept. He never spoke it aloud for fear it would make it real. Possible. But Ron knew. since the talk with Dumbledore, Ron's instincts were screaming something. What were they screaming? To run. Because it was coming. What? Ron had tried to put an action or a face to 'It'. He had no idea what 'It' was, but 'It' was even more unwelcome than Snape.  
  
At first Ron had feared that perhaps it was Harry's death. He didn't think so anymore, but that didn't make sense either. Harry certainly wasn't getting any better. He could still stand, and traveled about the Burrow very slowly, pausing often for breaths. His tremors were back in full force. He drank through a straw now, for fear his tremors would break another glass against his teeth.  
  
Something was going to happen. And it would change everything. Sometimes Ron saw a flash in Hermione's eyes as she looked at Harry. It was more than pity or concern or sorrow. It looked a lot like. anticipation. Harry's book slipped to the floor from limp fingers. He was dozing again. Ron locked eyes with Hermione, and she smiled widely.  
  
"Thank God Snape's gone!" she whispered candidly. Ron laughed softly, his eyes shifting to Harry for a moment as he stirred, then settled again.  
  
"Let's take this a little further away," Ron whispered. Hermione nodded and they both stood. Ron froze as the floor creaked a little underneath him. Hermione watched as Ron tried to tiptoe past Harry without making any further noise. She giggled. Ron frowned at her, but he knew he did probably look the sight. He'd had another growth spurt, and his limbs seemed ridiculously long compared to his torso. His center of gravity felt off, and Ron had begun drinking copious amounts of milk in the hope that the rest of him would catch up by the time he went to Hogwarts. He had Quidditch to try out for after all.  
  
Quidditch. Ron glanced back at his sleeping friend. Remus smiled at both of them. Ron pointed towards the kitchen. Remus nodded, silently indicating he'd stay with Harry. Of course he would.  
  
"Let's sit on the back porch, Ron. I don't know about you, but I think I would like some fresh air," Hermione said quietly. Ron thought about it for a moment, then nodded.  
  
Harry was always cold now. They kept the living room stiflingly warm, yet still Harry was forced to huddle under piles of blankets. It seemed to be more than a physical chill that affected him. To Ron it seemed more magical. After all, with *all* those blankets and layers of clothing, surely he couldn't still truly be cold. It was disturbing to see how pale and sickly Harry was contrasted with Ron's favorite, multi-colored quilt. It seemed to mock Ron with its cheerfulness.  
  
Forcing his thoughts away from Harry, Ron smiled at the sound of frogs croaking merrily in the nearby stream as they stepped outside. He sat on the second step, letting his legs splay in front of him on the dirt. Hermione settled beside him, pulling her legs close to her chest.  
  
"Are you cold?" he asked her. She shook her head. She'd gathered her hair into a ponytail which she then braided and had tied off with a little ribbon. As her head shook in the moonlight, her braid nearly whipped him in the face. "Hey, watch it with that thing!" he said jokingly. Hermione mock glared at him, then leaned back on her arms, letting her head tilt up to look at the night sky.  
  
"It's cool, but it feels a lot better than in there," Hermione replied.  
  
"It is hot in there, isn't it?" Ron asked, then paused for a moment speculatively.  
  
"What do you think Remus said to Snape?" Hermione asked.  
  
"I don't know, but that's the most expression I've seen on him in days. And he sure left in a hurry afterwards, didn't he?" Ron said with a shake of his head. "Whatever Remus said, he should have done it days earlier."  
  
"He's Harry's only hope right now. *I* wish he didn't look so stumped," Hermione said. Ron nodded. "I don't think he wanted to stay any more we wanted him here, but he did . I think he's really trying to save him," Hermione said. "Look, a falling star!" she exclaimed. Ron jerked his head skywards, but caught the barest hint of a light trail.  
  
"I missed it," he replied, now keeping his eyes trained on the sky in case there was another.  
  
"In the Muggle world, you're supposed to wish on a falling star. It's like blowing out the candles of a birthday cake," Hermione said softly.  
  
"Why?" Ron asked, frowning. Hermione shrugged.  
  
"Superstition. Muggles have lots of them. Knocking on wood, crossing their fingers when they lie, not walking under ladders. It's interesting, really. Do wizards have superstitions?" she asked.  
  
"Geez, Hermione. We don't even say You Know Who's name. What do you think?" Ron asked with a laugh. Hermione laughed with him.  
  
"I see your point. Do you want to know what I found out before I came here?" she asked quietly. The murmur of voices that drifted through the screen door told Ron that Remus was keeping Harry company, keeping him awake.  
  
They'd decided that little catnaps wouldn't do any harm. Half hour increments of time helped to assuage Harry's permanent fatigue, and the intervals lowered the chance of him being asleep during an attack dramatically.  
  
"What did you find out?" Ron asked, curious. They really hadn't had much of a chance lately to talk. Just talk. It felt nice, with the gentle summer breeze, frogs croaking and crickets singing in the background. If Ron blotted out everything that was happening inside, he could almost pretend that this summer was no different than any other. That he was on holiday with his friend, and all they had to worry about was what classes would be like next year.  
  
"I found out that before my parents found out I was a wizard, they dreamt I would go to medical school," she said. Ron raised his eyebrows in surprise.  
  
"To be a dentist?" he asked, pleased he remembered the Muggle term for what they did. Ron remembered Hermione telling him how upset her parents had been when she had had her teeth altered magically. Hermione nodded. "What do they dream for you now?" Ron asked.  
  
"They don't. They know so little about the Wizarding world, Ron. They don't know what's available. So, they just want me to be happy," she replied.  
  
"That's a nice wish," Ron said.  
  
"How about your parents? Do they have any expectations?" Hermione asked. Ron rolled his eyes, unsure if she could see his expression in the darkness.  
  
"Not really. Probably go to work at the Ministry or some such nonsense," Ron said bitterly.  
  
"So what do you want to do?" Hermione asked. Ron smiled a little.  
  
"Something different. Not Gringotts, not dragons, not the Ministry, not a joke business. I want to do something on the other end, completely on my own," Ron said frankly.  
  
"I don't have any shadows to step out of," Hermione said sympathetically.  
  
"You do, though. You have Harry's," Ron said.  
  
"Do you still resent it?" Hermione asked. Ron sighed. It was a complicated question.  
  
"I resent how we're *perceived* by everyone else, not what Harry has. Not anymore. He doesn't *have* anything. He doesn't even have a home of his own," Ron said. "Does that make sense?" Hermione nodded again.  
  
"I think it would be neat to be an Auror," Hermione said. "It sounds exciting. I have to admit, most academic jobs sound pretty, well. boring now. and it's yours and Harry's fault!" she said with a light punch to the arm.  
  
"Do you think Harry wants to be anything when he grows up?" Ron asked. It was fun to talk like this. Light chatter, nothing heavy. Stuff he was curious about, but bringing it up with Harry always seemed. wrong.  
  
Harry didn't have parents to dream for him. He'd never had anyone pester him about his grades. No one had been there his entire childhood to heal his scraped knees with a wave of a wand and a kiss to make it right. No one to tuck him into bed at night. So Ron skirted these casual questions with him, because it seemed cruel to talk about it.  
  
"I think he just wants to grow up," Hermione said softly. It felt like a blow to his gut, the truth of her statement. So much for light conversation. He sat there in companionable silence with her, and wished on her falling star that Harry would be able to do just that.  
  
*******************************************************************  
  
The early morning hours, 'witching hours' Harry had told Remus wryly, were the worst. Remus had to agree with him. It was odd at the Burrow. Isolated as it was, protected and warded until nothing could be heard from any nearby neighbors or Muggle contraptions, the Burrow still seemed more silent at three thirty in the morning than it did at midnight. Remus let out a sigh and started as he realized Harry was watching him.  
  
"I thought you were asleep," Remus said with a gentle smile.  
  
"I was," he replied. His eyes traveled to where his godfather slept.  
  
"Do you want me to wake him?" Remus offered. Harry shook his head firmly.  
  
"No, no. Let him sleep. I was just checking up on him," Harry replied. Remus laughed softly.  
  
"Yes, he does need to be kept tabs on," Remus agreed. "What woke you up?" he asked curiously. Harry shrugged.  
  
"I don't know. I've always been a light sleeper," he replied. Remus stood and crossed the room to sit beside Harry on the couch. He always seemed to keep his distance, allowing others near Harry. His friends, Sirius, Madam Pomfrey.  
  
"Me too," Remus replied. Unless it was near the full moon, he amended silently. Harry watched him closely.  
  
"But not always," Harry said aloud.  
  
"You notice too much," Remus said with a smile before nodding. "Yes, right before and right after the full moon I sleep like the dead," he agreed.  
  
"It's a lot, isn't it? I mean, it's at least a week out of every month," Harry said. He didn't say *what* was a week out of the month. He didn't need to. Suffering. That's what he meant. Pain. Remus nodded.  
  
"You get used to it," Remus said. This was something he'd hoped Harry would broach with him, although as ever he felt profoundly uncomfortable talking about himself. But if it got Harry to open up, he felt it was worth it.  
  
"How?" Harry asked. His eyes held no humor now. And they certainly weren't the eyes of a fifteen year old.  
  
"You face it. You survive, and when the next time comes around, you remind yourself you did it before. That you can do it again," Remus said thoughtfully. How explicit should he get? How much could he compare?  
  
"I heard a term once. It's a weird phrase. Someone once said that they're 'circling the drain'. Have you heard of it?" Harry asked. Remus frowned.  
  
"No," he replied, unsure where Harry was taking this.  
  
"I thought a lot about it. A paramedic said it to his partner as they took Mr. Ensley away a couple of years back. He lived two doors down from me, and one day he collapsed while he was mowing his lawn. I tried to help him, but I didn't know CPR or anything. He was breathing, but he was so pale. His eyes didn't focus anymore, you know? I was trying to reassure him while Aunt Petunia called the paramedics. He seemed to look right through me. Anyway," Harry said, shaking himself out of his memory. Remus smiled encouragingly.  
  
"And?" he asked, prompting him to continue. It was more than Harry had said in days.  
  
"When the Paramedics finally came, they attached tubes to his arm and put an oxygen mask on him. They stayed there for a while, which seemed strange. I thought they should have just rushed off with him, you know? He looked like he was dying. It seemed like a long time later, but I don't think it was, when they rolled him off to the hospital. I wanted to ask if he'd be okay. He was a nice guy. He smoked, but his wife refused to let him do it in the house. So he stood outside and smoked in his driveway all the time," Harry said with a shake of the head. "He was funny." Remus frowned.  
  
"Did he survive?" Remus asked. Harry shook his head.  
  
"That's just it. I went up to ask them if he'd be alright, but they were talking to each other. I didn't want to interrupt, so I just listened. The one man shook his head and said, 'Not much more we can do.' The other man nodded and looked at Mr. Ensley with a sad expression on his face. 'Yeah, mate. He's just circling the drain now,' he said. I didn't know what he meant, but I knew Mr. Ensley wouldn't make it. And he didn't," Harry said.  
  
"So what do you think it means?" Remus asked. Harry smiled gently.  
  
"It bugged me for a long time. I never really knew. Spiralling downward. Spinning out of control. I visualized spiders in the kitchen sink that Aunt Petunia squirted at with the kitchen nozzle. No matter how hard they'd try, they couldn't get out of the water current. Each circuit they made, they're one step closer to the drain. Maybe it's like a black hole. Once you're caught in its gravitational pull, you haven't got a chance," Harry said.  
  
"So what does this have to do with what we're talking about?" Remus asked. He suspected he already knew, though.  
  
"Each day I get more tired. I dream. I try to get better, but I can't seem to. One step forward, two steps back. I feel like I'm running out of steps," Harry said. Remus felt his heart rise in his throat.  
  
"You feel like you're circling the drain?" he asked. Harry nodded, his eyes shadowed.  
  
"I was one of the youngest cases to survive a werewolf bite in England's history. Did you know that?" Remus asked Harry. Harry shook his head.  
  
"How old?" Harry asked.  
  
"Five," Remus answered. Harry's eyes grew big as Remus nodded. Remus snorted in disgust. "I can't imagine what I looked like when I transformed as a five year old," he said, shaking his head.  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry said, and put his shivering hand on Remus'. Harry's knuckles were still slightly bruised from where he'd nearly cold cocked Sirius. Remus smiled, pulling himself away from the memories of pain and rejection he'd felt as a child, as those he'd loved turned away from him in disgust.  
  
"You know how long they said I would live?" Remus asked Harry, his gaze intent. Harry shook his head.  
  
"Eighteen. They thought I wouldn't make it through school," Remus said. Harry's eyes were huge. "It was hard for a long time, Harry. I won't lie to you. The days add up quick. Multiply them by years and it seemed I was doomed. I'd endure this curse. until I died. Until my body finally quit on me. But I came to some realizations," Remus said.  
  
"What?" Harry whispered. Remus knew that this was what had been on Harry's mind. Death.  
  
"I realized. people invent things every day. When I first got bit, there was no Wolfsbane Potion. It's been the best thing to happen to me in a long time. I keep my mind now. I'm still me. It makes a difference. But it's not just that," Remus said, looking at Harry intently.  
  
"Then what is it?" Harry asked breathlessly.  
  
"It's about one week out of the month. I *have* three other weeks. I have friends, colleagues, things to learn, things to do. I spend one week dying, and three weeks living," Remus said. Harry nodded. He was quiet for a long time after that, his trembling hand still resting on top of Remus'. Remus didn't move. He stayed beside Harry and watched the expressions that crossed his face. He was so complicated! That any teenager could be this. complex amazed Remus. Eventually, Harry began to smile a little.  
  
"'Get busy living, or get busy dying'," Harry said, then laughed gently.  
  
"What?" Remus asked, frowning.  
  
"A Muggle book I read once said that. 'Get busy living, or get busy dying'. It makes a lot more sense now," he said.  
  
"Heavy reading," Remus commented.  
  
"Beggars can't be choosers. Free is free," Harry said. Remus laughed.  
  
"I can't agree more," Remus said, indicating his threadbare robes.  
  
Harry lifted a trembling hand to his forehead, frowning. Dread creeped along Remus' spine as Harry's fingers began to clench until the knuckles turned deathly white. *Not again! It's almost morning! Give him some peace!* Remus cursed the fates. He knew these symptoms.  
  
"Sirius," Remus said firmly. Sirius started, his eyes wild for a moment before he focused on Harry.  
  
"Damn," Sirius said, standing up and crossing the room as if he hadn't just been sound asleep.  
  
"Harry?" Remus asked. Harry nodded his head at the unspoken question.  
  
"Yeah, it's another one," he said through gritted teeth. Harry closed his eyes as he arched back in pain, pressing against the pillows.  
  
"Just listen to my voice, okay? Stay with me," Sirius said, instantly on his knees in front of Harry. Harry nodded as his breath came in gasping jets.  
  
"Remus, get some ice for his forehead," Sirius said. Remus nodded and quickly strode across the room towards the kitchen. Ron and Hermione were oblivious, sitting on the porch as the first rays of sunrise tinted the horizon, talking companionably. He left them there, knowing they would be upset when they found out. But also knowing they needed time away, too.  
  
Even awake, Harry felt the attacks. That was the surprise no one had expected. No one had realized how much more of a connection Harry now had to Voldemort since his rise to power. Since his rebirth.  
  
Harry's first year, Ron mentioned once what Harry had described he felt in his scar when Voldemort was nearby, or angry. They all had assumed he would feel the same now. No one had been prepared for the sheer, raw agony that arched through Harry since the Triwizard Tournament. Their connection had increased exponentially.  
  
'Get busy living, or get busy dying.' Haunting words. Remus vowed to find out who wrote that. He lived by those words many days. As he filled a bowl with ice and water, he glanced at Harry's battle in the living room. He knew what Harry was doing right now, and prayed Voldemort's victims died quickly. 


	18. See You on the Other Side

Author's Notes: I've begun putting my responses to reviews at the end of the story instead of the beginning, just because I tend to get a bit. verbose. 8-) So, that in mind, on with the story!!! Enjoy.  
  
Chapter 18  
  
Hermione yawned, quietly treading downstairs. She was exhausted but not sleepy, a frustrating combination. The blankets had seemed to irritate her skin and her foot insisted on wiggling under the covers. 'Blast!' she'd finally thought in frustration. Her eyes felt like they were filled with sand and she refused to look in the mirror. She hoped Mrs. Weasley might know a wizard way to diminish the bags under her eyes and conceal the redness. To hide the telltale signs that she'd been crying.  
  
She'd cast a silencing spell around the room to keep the sound of the twins at bay after finally retiring to bed around six in the morning, but she'd yet to find a way to keep the floor from shaking each time Fred and George tromped upstairs for yet another item to amuse themselves with. In Hermione's opinion, they should have been as skinny as Harry with the amount of calories they burned.  
  
As Hermione stopped at the foot of the stairs to stretch, her eyes slid to the clock, noticing that Mr. Weasley's hand said he was still at home. That was odd. It was Friday morning. Hermione had tried to sleep for at least four hours before finally giving up, making it about ten. He normally left for work by eight.  
  
"What do they hope to gain? Can't we get them to stop? He's a child, Arthur. They have no right doing this to him!" Mrs. Weasley's voice exclaimed from the kitchen. Footsteps indicated they were heading back into the living room.  
  
Surprised at her instincts, Hermione instantly turned on her heel and sprinted back upstairs to perch on the uppermost step and continue to listen to the conversation taking place below. Hidden by the shadows of the hallway, Hermione had a clear view between the wooden slats of the banister of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley settling on the couch below.  
  
"I know. But right now we have no way to stop them. The only ones legally who could silence the Daily Prophet are the Dursleys as Harry's legal guardians."  
  
"Which is a mockery of justice in and of itself," Mrs. Weasley spat.  
  
"Headmaster Dumbledore felt it unwise to expose Harry to the scrutiny of actually trying to legally remove him from their care just yet. Of course the Ministry is aware somewhat of Harry's circumstances, but if such a thing became a matter of public consumption." Mr. Weasley let his words drift off. The implications were clear.  
  
"Arthur, people *believe* what they read from the Daily Prophet. Look what damage that Skeeter woman did to Harry last year!" Mrs. Weasley said. Mr. Weasley cleared his throat.  
  
"Dear, *you* believed those articles, too, remember?" he asked gently. Hermione nearly giggled at the bright blush that lit up Mrs. Weasley's face.  
  
"But I know better now!" Mrs. Weasley protested weakly. Mr. Weasley laughed and reached across to pat Mrs. Weasley's hand affectionately.  
  
"That's right. You do. The trick is to do the same for the rest of the wizarding public," Mr. Weasley said. "We have to find a way to discredit Fudge. He's the one keeping the lid on You Know Who's return. If we can prove him wrong, the rest of what he's been hiding will naturally come to light," he said soothingly.  
  
"We're running out of time, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley said sadly. Hermione felt her eyes widen in fear.  
  
"I know. It's a race to see if we can find where Fudge is hiding the evidence of You Know Who's attacks before he comes to question Harry himself," he said. Hermione's breath caught in the back of her throat.  
  
"You know he's manipulating these articles, Arthur. He holds the public's high opinion. I'm afraid he'll come sooner than anyone expects," Mrs. Weasley said.  
  
"I've spoken to Remus about this, but I don't think it's a good idea to mention this to Sirius. He's got enough to worry about," Mr. Weasley said. Mrs. Weasley nodded her head vigorously.  
  
"I agree," she continued. "There's nothing he can do about it, and it will just upset him."  
  
"Remus knows what's brewing. He's asked for me to..." Mr. Weasley paused for a moment, swallowing, "do something for him should the time come. He seems to feel as you do. I'm doing everything I can, Molly. I swear it," he said, his eyes searching for something from Mrs. Weasley's expression.  
  
"I know, love. I know. It's okay. You're doing your best. That's all *anyone* can ask," she replied, tenderly touching his face for a moment before leaning forward to kiss him. Hermione's eyes widened. That certainly wasn't a chaste kiss! Blushing, she stood and yawned loudly before stepping loudly onto the second step. The rustle of robes told her the Weasleys had separated as Hermione proceeded to continue to clomp downstairs, her own footsteps rivaling Fred's enthusiastic hops.  
  
"Hermione! What are you doing up?" Mrs. Weasley asked. Hermione scanned their faces to see if they suspected that she'd been eavesdropping. They looked surprised, not suspicious. She was getting far too good at this.  
  
"Have you ever been too tired to sleep?" Hermione asked wistfully. Mr. Weasley laughed.  
  
"Far too often," he replied, and Hermione caught Mrs. Weasley's wistful smile as she glanced at her husband. Hermione suspected his sleepless nights were more likely to be caused by worry.  
  
"Would you like some tea, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked. Hermione nodded.  
  
"If I'm up, I may as well get hyper on caffeine!" she said far more lightly than she felt. Mrs. Weasley chuckled fondly. Hermione followed her into the kitchen as the beginnings of an idea swirled in her mind. Perhaps. It might work. And in the meantime, to get rid of those bags.  
  
I'm back. In my *favorite* home in all of England. Molly Weasley smiles warmly at me as I raise my fingers, directing my trunk to a discrete corner. It settles loudly.  
  
"Welcome back, Professor Snape. I hope your time away was. fruitful," she says. I raise an eyebrow ironically.  
  
"As do I," I reply. I glance at the infamous Weasley clock. 'Anyone in mortal peril today?' I wonder. No. Not yet. Good sign.  
  
I'm bone weary from the Death Eater's meeting I was summoned to last night. I arrived here far later than I intended due to the overwhelming need to take a scorching hot shower. I'm well aware of the increasing number of Death Eater attacks during the evening, but my need to reapply *firmly* my public face before facing Lupin, Black and *him* are more important.  
  
My forearm burns with the newly healed injuries I'd inflicted just hours before. How I've lasted this long without amputating the damn thing amazes me. If it weren't for the fact that I know what would happen if I did, I would. Poor Willaby. He never really did have what it took to be a Death Eater.  
  
He'd been so easy for Lucius to corrupt. He certainly had a way with words. Willaby was a discouraged bureaucrat with failed expectations and far too bright a mind to be bogged down in political paperwork and sycophant underlings. He had a biting sense of humor that manifested at the most inappropriate times *for him*. I personally found him marvelously funny. Merlin knows his mouth put him under the Cruciatus Curse more times than anyone else in Death Eater history. He'd been a delightful addition to our ranks, but I knew. Willaby was a good man, just frustrated. He had no stomach for what he learned the Death Eaters to truly be.  
  
I'd watched in horror, and more than a little hope, as he'd tried so hard to break alliances with Voldemort. Begging, bargaining, promises, hiding... But the Dark Mark binds us all, and in the end. In desperation he'd cut his forearm off at the elbow. They'd treated him at St. Mungo's.  
  
"It seems I miscalculated," he'd said dryly as I settled beside him to visit.  
  
"How so?" I had replied vaguely.  
  
"Severus, I appreciate what you tried to do for me. Looking back, I was far too starry eyed to see the hints you tried to drop," he said. I kept my face calm. I knew that he would never go back to Voldemort now, but some habits are hard to break.  
  
"Hints?" I asked.  
  
"Lucius could talk a nun out of her virginity," Willaby said, shaking his head wistfully.  
  
"I think he might've, once," I replied. He snorted, turning his pale blue eyes to look at me intently.  
  
"I can't do what you've done," he said.  
  
"Done?" I ask, feeling a tingle of fear crawl up my spine.  
  
"It's what you're here for, aren't you? 'Buck up, old chap. There are other ways *not* to serve him,'" he said, mocking my voice with eerie exactness. Always precise, as was his nature.  
  
In truth, I had hoped to reassure him that there *were* ways to retain your beliefs after doing something as foolish as taking on the Mark. As pathetic as I had found his childish cries of 'I didn't mean it' to be, I also respected his courage and determination to say those things which I have privately felt for years aloud. Willaby knew he simply wasn't strong enough to bear the burden he'd placed upon himself.  
  
"Well, you've certainly come across a *unique* solution to your dilemma," I said, using my statement as a question. What happened next?  
  
As soon as I saw his face, I knew my deepest fears were realized. In a place I refused to even acknowledge, I'd rooted Willaby on, praying that something as simple as an amputation would sever the link forever. I'd miss the arm, don't get me wrong, but some sacrifices are worth it. His face told me otherwise. As I'd known, deep down.  
  
"Severus, I can't do this. Bloody hell, man, do you know where it's popped up now?!" he asked me, and even with no hope in his eyes there was still a smirk at the irony only he was aware of. I held my breath as he ripped the front of his pajama shirt open. There, directly above his heart, was the Dark Mark in all its horrible glory. "He even said it, remember Severus? That I never took him into my heart. Well," he said and snorted loudly, "I can't cut this off."  
  
And I knew it would only be a matter of time before Willaby severed the link in the only remaining way he knew how. Even under the watchful eyes of the St. Mungo's staff, he ended his life six days later.  
  
I settle at my usual place in the corner of the living room and watch as all the starring members of my little melodrama begin to appear. Granger has been up since I arrived, pouring through some book or another. Her avarice for knowledge borders on obsessive/compulsive in my opinion. She barely even acknowledges my presence as I settle in with the tea Molly had given me.  
  
In truth, and much to my surprise, I rather like the Weasley staple tea. It seems Molly Weasley special orders it out of a little town just south of London. In fact, in a moment of embarrassing candor I even ask for a contact to order some for myself. I rather missed it while I was away. Molly Weasley smiled brightly as she wrote down the information, and damned if she's not said a word to anyone about it since.  
  
Next to arrive is Lupin. He looks haggard, of course. The full moon has come and gone, and he teeters downstairs as if every joint in his body aches. I'm sure it does. But for all that his body is diminished, the man's mind never suffers. He's seen and acknowledged my presence with a nod before he's halfway downstairs.  
  
"Good morning, Hermione. I'm surprised to see you up so early," Lupin says politely to her. She smiles tiredly at him and rolls her eyes.  
  
"I am, too," she replies. "I just couldn't sleep. Although, I swear, I'll put cushions on the outside of Fred and George's shoes!" she says. A simple Jellylegs curse in my opinion would be far more effective. Lupin laughs softly just as Molly comes swooping into the room.  
  
"Professor. Remus! Would you like some breakfast, dear?" she asks, correcting herself midstream. He nods and she immediately leaves to begin bustling in the kitchen. Exit, stage left.  
  
"Gack!" a voice says enthusiastically from the stairs and I turn to see Black, palms wide and arms straightened nearly behind him in wide half circles as he tilts his head back, body arched in an energetic stretch. How he manages not to fall down the steps is something left to greater minds than I. He, too, notices me right away. His eyes slip to my trunk in an unspoken question, which I answer with a nod. His eyes slide away to land on Lupin. "What are you doing up?" he asks him. How had the man been able to exist previously without having someone to mother? He certainly excels now. Someday I'll check him for teats, I vow silently. Okay. 'Perhaps I'll remain *really* quiet today,' I think as I realize just how snide I already am. And I've already had two cups of tea.  
  
There are moments. like last night. In the quiet of the morning hours, when I'm all alone; tired and exhausted and spent. When I feel like I have nothing left to give. I let the despair, the self pity and darkness swallow me whole. I sob and tear at the skin on my forearm, scratching it away, relishing the brief seconds when all I see is vessel and tendon, when nothing else is there. I try to freeze those precious moments, pretend like this time I've scrubbed it clean, wiped my slate. In this moment, the scales balance and I can begin again.  
  
Thudding on the stairs indicates another Weasley approaches even as Black drops next to Lupin. It almost drowns out the pained squeak of protest the chair emits, but not quite. Ron Weasley, with red hair sticking in directions that rival Potter's black nest and puffy, bleary eyes, surveys me as well. His progress downstairs is far from enthusiastic. I smirk at the barely controlled fall each step is. If it weren't for gravity, he'd never make it to the bottom floor. He groans loudly at the sight of me and rolls his eyes as Granger hisses, "Ron!" reproachfully at him. He doesn't nod or acknowledge me in any other way.  
  
As he plops loudly on the couch beside Granger, she leans over and begins whispering.  
  
"Is Harry awake yet, Ron?" Molly calls from the doorway, startling all of us. Ron nods.  
  
"He'll be down in a minute," he mumbles. Molly nods enthusiastically and I watch in amusement as her eyes scan all the bodies currently in her living room.  
  
"Excellent. Then I shall begin on breakfast," she says enthusiastically. I almost raise my hand and open my mouth to let her know that I've already eaten, that I in fact prefer small breakfasts anyway, but close my jaw with a snap before that silliness can escape my lips. Trying to refuse Molly Weasley anything is much akin to trying to get a freight train to stop on a knut. It simply can't be done. I feel eyes on me, and glance up in time to see a flash of amusement on Lupin's face. I scowl, but it makes him smile wider. Grrr.  
  
A creak of the floorboard directs my eyes towards the stairs once more. Potter is on the bottom step, his foot frozen a moment as he glances around him, his eyes oddly panicked. I frown at his expression, wondering at its origin. He looks around the room, and exhausted eyes seem to take in his surroundings more clearly. With a slight shake of the head, the expression from his eyes clears completely. 'Now where on Earth did that come from?' I wonder.  
  
His gait is much slower than the last time I saw him several days ago. He concentrates now on placing one foot in front of the other, his legs shaking noticeably beneath his bathrobe. He pauses for a moment to rub his hands against his face and underneath his glasses, although I cannot tell if it's weariness or frustration that drives the gesture.  
  
He looks up in time to catch my eye. He smiles at me. It's not ironic, or bitter. It's almost. sympathetic. A chill slips up my spine as he nods his head courteously at me.  
  
"Professor," he greets me. I nod in return.  
  
"Potter. I see you've managed to survive," I reply. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Black bristle, but Lupin puts a hand against his arm soothingly.  
  
"Yes sir," he replies, the corners of his smile edging away from sympathy and returning to irony. My domain.  
  
"Ready for another round of tasty treats?" I ask and marvel at the absurdity of my own statement. Apparently everyone else does as well. As Potter manages to sit beside Weasley and Granger on the couch, I feel multiple sets of astonished eyes on me.  
  
"Only you, Severus, would call them tasty," Lupin says dryly, and Potter snorts, startling Black. He smiles as well as he glances at Potter, and frowns slightly. His eyes flash to me in warning. 'Don't push it,' his eyes warn. I won't. At least, not on purpose. No guarantees for what might happen otherwise.  
  
As Lupin and Black meander into the kitchen to keep Molly company as she cooks, Granger leans forward eagerly. Ah. It's time for me to hear just what she's been researching.  
  
"Harry, I've been thinking," she whispers, leaning across Weasley who looks decidedly pleased. Potter smiles gently at her.  
  
"What about?" he asks. His voice sounds scratchy and hoarse. 'Merlin. It's from screaming,' it dawns on me. I feel an increasing sense of horror. Those looks. Could he? 'No!' I clamp down on that thought before it can manifest any further. There are things I simply refuse to think about. Potter witnessing things I go through as a Death Eater being top of the list.  
  
"Hermione, how about 'How'd you sleep, Harry?' or 'How are you feeling?' or 'Are you hungry?'" Weasley growls in exasperation. Definitely not a morning person.  
  
"'Badly,' 'Lousy,' and 'Not really but I'll eat to appease you anyway.' Right, Harry? Now, about your dreams," she says, and I see Weasley stiffen uncomfortably. Potter stifles a small laugh.  
  
"About right," he replies softly under his breath, but I doubt either of them hear him.  
  
"Hermione." Weasley says warningly. Granger shakes him off. She's like a dog on a bone. I glance at the kitchen to make sure Black is still there. He has hawk ears as well, I've discovered, and I don't want him interrupting this conversation. I'm curious.  
  
"No, just. You see things, right? Well, what if. Harry, I've been thinking, and what if you try to stay around long enough in your dreams to figure out what the Ministry is doing after You Know Who leaves?" she blurts in a rush. I'm impressed. She's both aware enough to sense the growing pressure to press charges against Potter and keen enough to know just what needs to be done to disarm it. It's what Arthur Weasley has been trying to do for the past month.  
  
Weasley looks from one friend to another, but my main focus is on Potter. His face has blanched, and I sense she's touched on a very sensitive subject. I force myself not to lean forward to hear better.  
  
"It's a good idea," Potter says weakly. He opens his mouth as if to say more, then closes it. Then he says, "But." he pauses.  
  
"But?" Weasley interrupts. I want to throttle him. Shut up, boy. He's working towards it.  
  
"But. Erm, well. When," he pauses here to clear his throat. *Yes?* I mentally try to prompt the boy. Great Merlin, quit leaving me in suspense! "When he's. when he's torturing them, I feel it. It's like I'm linked somehow to what he inflicts. I. I'm afraid that if I stay for the whole dream, that I'll die with them. That I won't wake up," he finishes, looking profoundly uncomfortable. Weasley and Granger stare at him in horror, and I have to suppress my own rising dread.  
  
The potions I've inflicted on him in the past have sometimes done just that. forced him to remain in the dream longer than he would naturally have been. Not that I'd intended this, but. His is a unique case. 'Has he ever stayed through until someone's died?' I wonder. Granger asks my question aloud. Good girl. Potter shakes his head.  
  
"No," he says, clearing his throat again. "I've stayed past when other Death Eaters have killed, but not Voldemort," he replies. My eyes unconsciously travel to my trunk sitting in the corner. My stomach clenches in tension and I know Molly Weasley's bangers and black pudding are going to sit in my stomach like lumps. "It was a good idea, though, Hermione, and maybe I won't. I'm just reluctant to try. You understand, right?" he asks hesitantly. Granger leaps up and hugs him tightly. His arms flail a little and I see Weasley tense up beside them.  
  
"Of course I do, Harry. It was just an idea. Don't you even try, you understand?" she demands abruptly. I silently send my *amen* to that statement, although I fear my latest potion might just do that. Gads, as if I already didn't have *enough* to worry about with the boy. 'No, no pressure here, Severus,' I silently say and bemoan my fate privately for a moment. It's not often that I'd rather be teaching first years Potions, but now is definitely one of those moments. At least I can torment them.  
  
Harry threw the drink far back into his throat. The trick was to let as little of Snape's potion touch his tongue as possible, and gulp as much of it as he could before the gag reflex kicked in. He was back in *his* bedroom. For now. Ron had already tried twice to switch rooms with him. The second time Ron had nearly finished, having enlisted Ginny and the twins' aid before Mrs. Weasley caught them. Harry shook his head fondly at the bedlam that ensued. Needless to say, he was still in Percy's old room.  
  
It was about one o'clock in the afternoon, and time for another round of 'Let's Get Harry to Try to Sleep'. He sighed, looking up into Sirius' warm, concerned eyes. Sirius looked so tired lately. There were lines of stress on his face that Harry hadn't remembered seeing before. The only thing that cheered Harry was the fact that his godfather was no longer skeletal thanks to Mrs. Weasley's cooking. He was in fact filling out nicely, and even his coloring seemed healthier. He was certainly a far cry from the frightening banshee of a man Harry had encountered a year and a half ago.  
  
Harry's eyes locked on Snape as he seated himself in the corner of the room, his robes falling dramatically to either side of his chair. His black eyes glittered, and Harry wondered, not for the first time, just what his Potions Professor thought about. Snape now spoke very little, and Harry knew with a secret smile that he was likely practicing 'If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.' The potion roiled dangerously for a moment in Harry's stomach as he leaned back into the pillows.  
  
"Harry?" Sirius asked, and Harry suspected he'd just turned a little green.  
  
"I'll be okay," he rasped, but had to fight the nausea. His throat tightened threateningly, but after a moment relaxed and Harry felt the magic within the potion begin to overtake him. He took a deep breath and tried to suppress a shudder. 'Please, let Voldemort take a vacation today,' he prayed silently. Something of his thoughts must have shown in his expression, for Sirius put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.  
  
"You'll be okay," Sirius reaffirmed. Harry nodded as his eyes closed. It was as if a curtain were slowly drawn over his conscious mind, and he drifted blissfully downward. 'Please, let him be silent today,' he begged to the Fates, or whomever dictated these things. 'I'm so tired.' he thought, then. stillness.  
  
There was a pattern to Harry's visions that he'd grown familiar with; steps that seemed to take him to wherever Voldemort was, rather than an instantaneous macabre scene. Sometimes he would be dreaming nice, normal dreams which would begin to morph and change. darkness would begin to swirl around him and a tugging reminiscent of a Portkey drew him onward. He always struggled, intangible fingers trying to grasp at his fragile dreams to keep the nightmare at bay, but it never worked.  
  
Sometimes, like today, he hadn't been dreaming at all. His awareness rose towards the surface of the vision like a bubble of air out of the depths of the sea, each passing moment more inevitable than the last. As his surroundings began to solidify, Harry automatically pulled his arms tightly around his chest defensively, all too painfully aware of what was about to begin.  
  
He'd spent so many visions desperately looking to run away, to break the connection, that it had been hard for him to no longer try. But whatever it took to sever the vision, Harry wasn't capable of doing it, and all his struggling seemed to do was make it more painful for him in the end. Instead, he did the only other thing he *could* do; pay close attention to the surroundings, the people, taking note of any names; listen to any discussions for hints of future attacks; and honor the dying by witnessing their tragedy. Each time Harry did this, he tried to be strong, tried to do what he thought was right, but inside he felt himself grow more hollow, more alone. He died a little each time he failed to help *his* victims. So Harry forced himself to witness their undignified death. And each time, when he awoke, he felt a little more separated, muffled from life; the sharp cries and vivid images of blood and death drowning out the gentle warmth and soothing comfort of companionship.  
  
A cold, brutal truth Harry learned all too well was that there was no *glory* in death. Perhaps only relief. eventually. He'd never seen a childbirth, but he couldn't imagine how people could compare life and death, describing them as 'natural' cycles, inevitable and in their savage way, beautiful. Harry had seen too many times how the body struggled to still breathe, long after there was no chance to inhale. How the heart still tried to beat, even as the blood was pumped outside the body. Hands still clenched in determination, even as eyes glazed and no longer saw.  
  
He knew most of Voldemort's favored Death Eaters by stance and build alone now and no longer even needed to hear their voices to tell them apart. He could recite their favorite modes of torture, what kind of victims they preferred, and now acknowledged that sometimes Avada Kedavra was a mercy.  
  
But since the night the voices of the dead nearly overwhelmed him, one voice in particular had oddly enough given him a tiny grain of hope. Somehow, that old woman had seen him. He was connected, and if he could just learn how to manipulate it, perhaps. Perhaps he could do something after all.  
  
He'd spent countless desperate moments trying to touch, to aid, to throw, distract, tear, or otherwise assist the doomed. He failed each time, but had discovered in the final moments between life and death. sometimes they saw him.  
  
There was a barrier within himself that Harry was trying to understand. It was hard to describe, but deep down he *knew* there had to be a way to affect the outcome. He'd given up on the physical, but there had to be ways. He refused to believe that the link he shared with Voldemort was strictly one sided. If Harry could feel the pain Voldemort inflicted, there had to be a way for Harry to return the favor. He just needed to figure out how.  
  
Harry's sight cleared as he drew closer to the next chosen location. He hovered above, viewing an abundance of trees and a delightful cottage with flaking yellow paint and a faint puff of smoke still lazily floating up from the chimney. It was nearing sunset, and in the warm amber light it seemed impossible that anything bad could happen here. As Harry drew closer, he began to note more details. There was an overflowing garden behind the house whose very wildness made up in enthusiasm what it lacked in organization. Some of the windows, Harry realized, were made of stained glass, and the detail work was exquisite, the colors so rich and vibrant that they almost seemed to have a texture. He drifted further down towards the home, noting the uneven shingle roofline that only added that much more character, then through the front door.  
  
And heard screams. Harry could already feel the warning tingles of power and energy as Dark Magic was unleashed within the confines of the cottage. Harry looked around frantically for information. They were gathered in what appeared to be the living room, the Death Eaters surrounding them. So this was to be a group thing? Harry frowned. then this must be a retaliation of some sort. One of the four victims gathered in a tight group, or more, must have gone against Voldemort directly. Harry drew closer, trying to see their faces.  
  
Two men and two women, all in their late thirties or early forties. One man was shorter, balding with brown hair sticking out in a half circle around his skull in what Harry thought of as the 'Frair Tuck' look. He wore round spectacles, and had a cherubic face with ample laugh lines. His eyes darted around him, but Harry wasn't sure what he was looking at, because it didn't appear to be the Death Eaters. The woman he clung to was taller than him by nearly a foot, with long straight brown hair, narrow blue eyes and a strong, weathered face. Her focus was strictly on Voldemort, and she held herself with quiet dignity. She didn't utter any words of defiance, or exude any bravado, but her very presence seemed to anchor the couple beside her.  
  
Harry frowned as he looked closer at them. They were younger, and the woman held certain physical resemblances to the dignified woman beside her. But her composure was gone, and she kept her eyes glued to the floor. The man who held her kept glancing about as well, as if he were looking for something. Did they have wands nearby, Harry wondered? Did they have a means for escaping? Harry began to prowl the perimeter of the room, trying to see what they were searching for.  
  
".what you've said and done. Everyone is entitled to an opinion, after all," Voldemort said, than lazily pointed his wand at the dark haired woman. "Crucio," he said, and the curse flowed through Harry's veins like acid, bled through his skin and whipped muscles and tendons like overstretched springs that no longer could fit back into place. Harry knew he screamed, but his mind couldn't register it, couldn't process anything but the pain. Voldemort finally paused for a moment. How long had he held the curse?  
  
Flat on the ground, barely able to raise his head, Harry gasped for breath. He closed his eyes, trying to regroup. He needed to get up, to search the room more. If only his limbs would cooperate. Stifling a moan of pain, Harry forced his eyes open, and found himself staring into two enormous brown eyes that peered from somewhere beside him.  
  
"Help my mum and dad," a child's voice whispered. Harry felt himself jolt in shock. There was a little girl hiding underneath the couch. and she could see him.  
  
TBC  
  
Vmr, Arinya, Lady FoxFire, Badger Lord, Sobbing Sally, Kate the Great, Blah, Lizard, Caitlin, Amelie, Phoenix, Marauder chick, Hyper Princess, Tanya, Kelley, Cierra, gwen, Japangirlcarley24, connie, AllAboutMe, Tempest Princess, kapies, hpfan, emilie: Thank you all SO MUCH for your reviews and kind words. I'm thrilled that even this far into the story you're still enjoying it. It's going to be a roller coaster ride soon, so I hope you stay with me. Enjoy!  
  
VON: I'll send you Chapter 15 today. I did see it out on the site, but. Microsoft works in mysterious ways.  
  
Lily of the Valley: Wow! Thanks for all the reviews! I'm really glad you liked it! LOL Here's more.  
  
Kaydee: Stephen King wrote the lines. They're from Shawshank Redemption (the movie was terrific!). I absolutely agree with your assessment of Snape. Thanks for liking the words. I was particularly proud of them myself. g  
  
Mihoshe: You are most welcome. Ask and ye shall receive. 8-)  
  
Lothey: Excellent! I loved your previous one! I look forward to it!  
  
Arabella Figg: Sure! Um. Hurm. I guess I need to look at my map. I thought that would encompass everything. Sorry.  
  
Maraudermoony: I absolutely agree with you about Harry. He has had it so hard for most of his life, that what little joy from family he gets seems to quickly be snatched away! Just tiny samplings of what life *should* be like, but for Harry never will be.  
  
Lin-z, -_-: Hang in there! Um, wow. Nothing to get tense about steps away from the keyboard, hands in the air defensively. I promise, by chapter 20 things begin to hop!  
  
Nicky: Thanks again as always! I'm hoping I can get you one more before you go. I'm sure trying! g  
  
Venus4280: Thank you so much for liking 'my' Snape. I'm rather partial to him! As for Remus. he's so tragic! I just want to make him smile, because he's had so little call to do just that for most of his life! I agree that Ron and Hermione need to be more involved, and I promise that will begin within the next two chapters. As for your comments about Sirius: I certainly see your point. No worry, though. He's complex to explore, so I've discovered it's best to do it during the quiet times of the story. Needless to say, there will be more conversations between Remus and Sirius soon. He's got a lot of healing to do himself!  
  
P.A.R.: Okay. I'm going to gush, I just know it. I LOVE your writing and am absolutely thrilled to death that you've been reviewing my story! I cannot tell you just *how much* it means to me. Thank you so much for taking the time to do it!  
  
I agree, the rescue was a bit rushed. Your suggestions with where to put things in a paragraph has left me looking at things in a whole new way. Just alter where it goes, and it can sure change the impact, can't it? I also agree with different choices for some of the words. Cacophony is a bit *cheerful* isn't it? Yep, figured out that 'thought' works much better. Too busy otherwise! Good point about Madam Pomfrey. I have always perceived her, not necessarily as a specialist, but certainly not a nurse either. Yes, my school only had a nurse, but I didn't live there, either. I figure, especially since she has to address such a *variety* of ailments g, that she would be more like a general practitioner and St. Mungo's would have the specialists. But I certainly have attributed a great deal to her skills, haven't I?  
  
Okay. I'm going to print your review and post it on top of my keyboard. I cannot tell you *how* nice your compliment was. Thank you *so* much. Okay. I'm gushing again. I'll stop.  
  
Yep, some of the scenes I know what I want to project, but it doesn't come out smoothly. I'm sure that's what you're seeing. Those scenes I still press through, because they need to be there, but they are three times as hard to write as some of the others.  
  
Hmmm. Mind reading characters. Missed that. Good point. Besides, Sirius is just not *that* intuitive, is he? Okay. Bad joke. I'm stepping away from the kitchen table now.  
  
Yep. I've discovered that's my favorite scene to write. The plot gets driven along, but the realness of the idle chit chat and banter that goes beside the plot is what breathes life into the story. I really work at that. I'm glad you like it.  
  
Ginny, Ginny, Ginny. I thought it would be simpler to keep her out of the picture, because I wanted the focus to remain on Harry, Ron and Hermione. Of course, that focus grew anyway. but I hadn't mentioned Ginny at all (no peeks around the corner or anything) so I felt I had to explain why.  
  
As for Lily. I picture their relationship as one where Petunia has gone out of her way most of her life to be cruel to Lily, and get her into trouble. You know, the kind of bad blood between siblings where Lily tried to reconcile them one too many times, and then decided she'd had enough? I pictured their relationship more like that. I did try to stay in canon, but took a little extra step with her. I certainly never picture her *ever* wanting Harry to live with them, and just took it backwards.  
  
Snape was a big decision. I agonized how to do him for a while. This format I am the happiest with, and in upcoming chapters this type of perspective I think will be invaluable for some plot developments. But I certainly see how it can fail. Even transitioning from him to one of the other characters is jarring. I still like it, though. I'm thrilled to death that you do too. 8-)  
  
All in all, I am *so* grateful for your input, and eagerly await any more you may have. Thank you so much. By the way, once I'm done with the story, I do intend to go back and clean it up, tighten it, etc. It's just that I'm more concerned at the moment with actually *finishing* it (I'm the queen of rewrites. To actually step away from the story and just *post* it is something monumental in itself g), but once done, I intend to spit shine it nicely! Thanks again for everything. It really meant a lot to read these reviews. 


	19. I Remember When

Author's Note: Okay. I'm frustrated with my format disappearing when I upload my story. How can I get italics and bold to stick, and why does my ****** border disappear only some of the time? I know, I know. these are the mysteries of the ages. But doggone it, it's just plain annoying! Grrr. Arrrgh. Ah well, on *that* note, I have discovered that some of my border delineations between perspectives doesn't show. I'm intending to go through and re-upload those chapters once I've figured out how to get the darn things to stick. But, I promise to only upload when I've also got a new chapter so I don't psych you out into thinking I've got something new when in actuality I'm only being nit picky. As per the previous chapter, additional comments are at the end. Enjoy the story, and as always, thanks oodles for reading and *especially* for reviewing!!!  
  
Disclaimer: Still not mine. Perhaps in an AU somewhere, though. Oh, who am I kidding? On with the show. g  
  
Chapter 19  
  
Harry froze, looking into those terrified, shocked eyes and felt as if his stomach had plummeted to new lows. The two men weren't looking for their wands, they were looking for her!  
  
"You can see me?" he asked the little girl. She looked to be no older than seven or eight. She had long brown hair pulled back into to side pony tails and enormous brown eyes. She wore a dusty, dirty jumper with bits of dried leaves still attached. Good. That meant she wasn't afraid to climb trees if need be, and considering the woods surrounding her house, if he could just get her outside, she'd have plenty of places to hide. When she opened her mouth to speak, Harry held out a trembling hand. "Shhh. No talking. Just nod your head," he instructed. She did so, trying to appear brave even as her lip trembled, her eyes solemn.  
  
"Okay." Harry said, his mind going in a million different directions at once. She could see him. "We've got to get you out of here," he said aloud as he tried to stand, his limbs quivering so badly he nearly fell again.  
  
"Wait!" she whispered fiercely. Harry quickly glanced around, praying no one had heard. They hadn't. Harry let his legs collapse underneath him and crashed onto his knees. There was no time. He had to get her out of there now, because she couldn't stay. She just couldn't. Harry let himself topple forward until they were nearly nose to nose. Her eyes widened at his nearness, but she didn't scoot away from him. Instead, she crept closer.  
  
"I have to get you out of here," Harry said, trying to instill the sense of desperation he felt into her. She was so young.  
  
"Mum and dad, and Aunt Mary and Uncle Carl." she said, her eyes instinctively glancing their direction. Oh God. They were her parents, her family. He felt sick to his stomach. But of course they were her family, he berated himself. What did he think, that it took four adults to babysit? Oh poor thing. Quickly, Harry clamped on that train of thought. That kind of grief and guilt would get him and *her* nowhere.  
  
"You can't help them now. What's your name? Whisper it really quietly, okay?" Harry instructed.  
  
"Anne," she said softly. Harry nodded in approval.  
  
"Anne, right now they're trying to keep those bad men's attention away from here so you can run away," Harry said firmly. She shook her head in determination. Harry's stomach clenched. No?  
  
"I've got to help them," she whispered. Harry marveled at how strong. or stubborn she was for such a young girl. She was terrified, but still trying to do what she thought was best. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, the murmur of voices still faint enough for Harry not to lose his concentration. Thankfully, no spells were being cast at the moment. He knew his time, and his ability to help Anne, was short.  
  
"By escaping, you will be helping," Harry reasoned. She frowned. He could hear the wheels clicking in her mind. She wasn't going to fall for *that* trick. Harry sighed. "Right now, they're more worried about you getting out than their own safety. They keep looking around. They're looking for you, Anne. The sooner you hide somewhere safe, where they won't have to worry about you, the better chance they'll have to try to defend themselves," Harry argued. He held his breath while her eyes darted from him to her family. She frowned as she thought through what he said. 'Please let her see reason,' Harry thought.  
  
".want. Crucio!" Voldemort said again, and Harry's world was thrown topsy turvy as he spasmed on the ground in front of the little girl. Reality slipped away for a moment, as he couldn't think to even worry about the girl being frightened. His senses were overwhelmed and black spots danced in front of his eyes by the time Voldemort released the spell. The strong woman. She must be the aunt. How long would it take before she ended up like Neville's parents? How long before he did? With his head hung low, Harry took great heaving gulps of air, trying to relax. The spell had ended, but his body still quivered and spasmed in remembered pain.  
  
"Anne, if you want my help to get out of here, you have to do it now," Harry gasped desperately. Her eyes were huge and her mouth hung open in shock as she stared at Harry. He prayed she hadn't made a sound as he'd convulsed in front of her. Harry rolled over onto his stomach and stared at her imploringly, propping himself weakly onto his elbows. "Do you really think there's something that you can do that your family can't?" Harry wheezed. "Against them?" He hoped his statements wouldn't scare her, nodding to Voldemort and the Death Eaters in the room, but he was running out of time, and so was she. He had to get through to her. She closed her eyes, and tears slipped out each corner. Huge, fat drops slid down her face as she shook her head in defeat, her ponytails bouncing innocently, oddly cheerful in contrast to the macabre scene transpiring.  
  
"No," she whispered. Harry felt a relieved smile creep onto his face. "Good girl. Let's get you out of here," he said and looked around him, mentally gathering up his strength. "Where's the furthest door from where *they* are?" Harry asked her. She pointed her finger behind her. Perfect. She could slip behind the couch and out the back.  
  
"Stay here. I'll check to see if anyone's there, okay?" he said, not waiting for an answer as he tried to stand. It took a couple of tries and whispered prayers, but he finally wobbled out of the room. He kept reaching out to try to brace himself up, but his hand slipped through the wall and he nearly stumbled to his knees again.  
  
Behind the couch, through a darkened doorway, was a small room filled with books. A desk in the corner was piled high with scrolls, and littered with dozens of the dulled ends of quills that had been trimmed. In the corner opposite of the desk was a door to the outside. Evening light fell through the upper half of the stained glass door, bathing the room in surreal colors of red, blue, green and purple. Unable to see on the other side of the glass, Harry stuck his head *through* the door, feeling completely like Nearly Headless Nick, and looked to either side. Harry would have rather checked around the house completely, but was losing energy fast, and the scene in the living room was about to get bleak. He was running out of time.  
  
Quickly he returned to the room. "Anne," he called from the doorway, conserving strength. Her head popped out from underneath the couch and looked at him trustingly. "They're not looking. Start crawling towards me, and be careful not to make a sound!" Harry instructed, his eyes glued on the surrounded adults. She nodded obediently and crept on all fours, moving with odd grace for such a small child. The scene in the living room continued to play itself out. There appeared to be lots of discussion, oddly enough, but Harry didn't care. That wasn't his concern now. Anne was. She was at his feet now.  
  
"Go through me and towards the door. Wait there, and I'll check one more time," Harry said. Once in study, she didn't move as carefully. She stood and was nearly at the door, with him beginning to follow, when the floor creaked. Harry froze in alarm, as did she. Harry put a trembling hand out to her, every sense straining to hear if anyone had noticed. "Stay there. I'll check to see if they heard," Harry said, and returned to the doorway. Voldemort and the others didn't appear to have heard, but her family did. Harry watched as the one woman (Anne's mother?) finally glanced up, hope nearly lighting up her face for a second before she schooled it back into defeat.  
  
That's why she'd been looking down. She was afraid she'd give Anne away. She *must* be her mother, Harry realized. The man beside her. Anne's father. held her hand in his and squeezed it comfortingly. His eyes slid to the doorway as well, before locking glances with Carl. A brief nod and a smile. They'd heard the sound and knew what it meant. Harry hurried to the door where Anne waited for him and poked his head *through* the wall to the outside beside her, looking every direction. "It's clear," he said. "Does the door creak?" he asked her. She shook her head, hair gently slapping at her face, and reached for the knob. Opening it gingerly, she slipped through.  
  
"Shut it softly behind you. So they don't realize anyone escaped," Harry instructed. She did so and stood looking around her. Harry walked through the wall and bent over so he was eye to eye with Anne. He knew if he kneeled, he'd never be able to stand up again. "Now, I want you to run. Far and fast. Run as far as you can. Do you have any neighbors you can go to?" he asked. She nodded and waited. Why wasn't she running yet?  
  
"No, Anne. I can't go with you. Go to your neighbors, but stay out of sight. Tell them what you saw, and to summon the Ministry. Tell them *not* to investigate on their own, okay? There's too many. Now GO!" Harry yelled. She took off like a shot, ponytails streaming behind her. She was amazingly fast as she leaped over the bushes, ducked under fallen logs and disappeared into the forest. She disappeared as quick as a rabbit, and Harry realized that the forest was her element; she was at home there. Even if the Death Eaters realized she'd run, they'd never find her now. She was *safe*.  
  
Although Harry hadn't heard the words, he knew what was happening nonetheless. In the blink of an eye, he was back inside the living room. Mary, Anne's aunt, was whimpering on the floor, her eyes glazed over. Anne's father was dead, and as Anne's mother and Carl waited for their turn, Anne's mother turned her eyes to Harry.  
  
"Thank you," she whispered with a gentle smile, then they were all engulfed in the Cruciatus Curse. Harry knew that Snape's potion had held him down, refused him the ability to regain consciousness. Maybe now he'd get the chance to prove Hermione's theory one way or the other. Harry didn't think he'd survive, but he didn't care. He'd saved her. He'd saved Anne. And if he did survive, he'd figure out how to do it again. and again. Then all thoughts were washed away as he *became* pain, and nothing else existed.  
  
*************************************************  
  
"Spiro Sustineo Pectus!" I cry once more, my wand pointed at Potter. A light shoots forth and glows around him, trying to force breath and life into his body. 'No,' I correct myself, 'Not his body. I'm trying to force life and breath into Potter.' He's been in the vision now for over two hours. I've tried everything to awaken him, every potion and spell known to wizard or Muggle. Black has, too, and Lupin is currently pouring through my books looking for anything obscure that might aid me in my desperation. The spell I've cast is last ditch, and I've already cast it three times before. Fifteen minutes since Harry stopped breathing on his own, since his pulse fluttered and then ceased entirely. Merlin, I've killed him. No! I correct myself. Not yet. There's still hope yet.  
  
Potter's chest contracts as the spell forces blood through his limbs, and his jaw lowers as air is magically forced into his lungs. He's not responding. His skin is waxy and white, and his lips are tinted purplish blue. The spell will last for another five minutes before I have to cast it again.  
  
"Come on, Harry, breathe! Wake up, Harry, come on!" Black shouts directly into the boy's face. He's standing over Potter, shaking him roughly. I don't interfere, as the spell isn't hindered by movement. Besides, I don't think anything but his godfather can call him back at this point. I close my eyes against the burning that resides there. *I* did this. My potion, my creation, has forced this upon The Boy Who Lived. And to say that I feel sick is the understatement of the century. "Damnit, Harry, you can't give up! Open. Your. Eyes. Now!" Black screams furiously.  
  
If. Black can get him back. If. Potter survives whatever happened in his vision. I pray to Merlin he's not insane. Twenty minutes. For nearly half an hour he was under the Cruciatus Curse. I swallow back the bile that rises in my throat and prepare to recast my spell when a triumphant shout startles me.  
  
"That's it, Harry! Come on, take a breath!" Black shouts, and Lupin leaps to his feet, my books clattering to the floor unnoticed. I rush forward as well and peer over Black's shoulder. A soft whistling sound emits from Potter's lips as his back arches and he struggles for oxygen.  
  
"Come on, Harry. Keep going. Breathe," Lupin says encouragingly beside me. Potter's face contracts in pain and concentration as I listen to him gasp and choke. His chest expands and I smile in triumph.  
  
"Yes!" I exclaim, and Lupin shoots me a shocked look before returning back to Potter.  
  
"Now another. First one's the hardest. Take another breath, Harry," Black coaxes now, his face close to Potters as he holds Potter's clenched fist in his hand. Harry breathes again. Harry? Did I just think Harry? Potter. I reach forward and feel for a pulse. It's weak but there. I nod to both Black and Lupin, and they smile stupidly.  
  
"..I." Potter gasps, and I realize he's trying to speak. 'Can he be regaining consciousness?' I wonder in shock. I lean forward as his eyes try to flutter open. His irises are rolling around in his head as he dances from consciousness to unconsciousness, and he frowns, trying to corral his errant vision into focusing. After a few minutes of rattled breaths, his eyes finally do lock. He looks at Black, and an enormous grin lights up his face. I feel a chill run up my spine. His teeth are red with blood. Either he's bit his tongue, or he's spitting up blood. Either way, the effect of the red teeth, vaguely unfocused green eyes, waxy skin and black hair burns an image into my mind that I doubt will ever leave me. He's mad. It's the only explanation for that smile. I know what he must have been seeing. I've seen it myself. Yet his smile is too genuine, too real. There's no bitterness or rage there, just undiluted happiness. He's off his rocker.  
  
"..sssshhhh..." Potter tries to speak again.  
  
"What?" Black asks, his face ashen. Clearly he fears as I do. "What did you say?" he asks, his tone tentative, cautious.  
  
"Shhhhhhhh." Potter says and frowns in frustration. Lupin looks at Black in concern and reaches forth to rest a hand on his shoulder. Yes, Lupin thinks it too. 'Can he sense it some other way?' I idly wonder.  
  
"What are you trying to say, Harry?" Black whispers, hesitant. Is he afraid now? I am.  
  
"Alive!" Potter breathes. Black smiles, relief creeping into his expression but not settling.  
  
"That's right, Harry. You're alive," he replies and Potter laughs, shaking his head. Then Potter's smile falters for a moment as he slips his hand out of Black's grasp and raises it to his lips, frowning at the blood on his fingertips that glistens wetly.  
  
"That can't be good," he mutters then his eyes roll back in his head. His teeth still shine bright red through his slack mouth and I begin to run my wand across Potter's body, assessing damage. Black clearly has no idea how to interpret Potter's behavior, but I'm heartened. Although he laughed maniacally, Potter managed a coherent sentence. Much more than I expected. I feel eyes on me and lock gazes with Lupin as I finish my assessment.  
  
"He's taken extensive damage internally, but it's nothing the post Crutiatus Curse potions won't take care of. There's no permanent damage," I say quietly to him. I'm trying not to catch Black's attention, hoping he's still completely focused on the boy, but I've failed. He snorts derisively, launching himself up from Harry's bedside, his blue eyes boring into me.  
  
"Permanent damage?" Black hisses. Lupin steps forward immediately and rests a calming hand on Black's shoulder.  
  
"Severus, why don't you start working on those potions for when Harry wakes up again?" Lupin asks me, and I know this is my cue to leave. I bite back a retort at Black, surprised at my own lack of animosity. Perhaps I'm too relieved that the boy still lives to dredge up much bitterness or resentment towards his godfather. Nonetheless, it's odd. My heart's not in it at the moment. Hmmm. If I wait long enough, this will pass, I decide, and nod to Lupin, turning on my heel and leaving the room abruptly. Potter's unconscious for now. He's still alive. Nothing more I can do for now *besides kill him*, a dark voice in my head says. I've tried, damnit. And it wasn't good enough. I think it's time to see where Molly hides the good stuff. I'm relatively sure I saw her take a nip when she was at the stove.  
  
*****************************************  
  
"Padfoot," Remus said as he watched Snape leave the room. Sirius' body shuddered under Remus' touch.  
  
"He almost killed him," Sirius said, his voice flat.  
  
"He didn't. He was trying to help," Remus replied and frowned as Sirius spun, shrugging off Remus' hand angrily as he did so.  
  
"Harry just died, Remus. He didn't have a heartbeat and he stopped breathing. If he's not crackers when he wakes up, I'll eat my teacup! Don't you get it?! Harry died!" Sirius practically screamed. Remus scowled and glanced at Harry. His features were slack, and his chest moved slightly with each breath.  
  
"Let's take this out of the." Remus tried to steer him away from Harry. The last thing he needed was to hear his distraught godfather, Remus decided. Besides, he needed as much rest as he could get, and it would most likely be a while before the next attack.  
  
"I'm not leaving, Remus. Forget it," Sirius said, and Remus froze at the expression he saw. If he thought he'd been concerned about Harry's sanity before, he was far more worried about Sirius now. Sirius' face was taut in a rigor of stress and pain, his pupils tiny pinpricks. Remus' heightened olfactory senses could detect the stale sweat and adrenaline mixed with Sirius' normal blend of soap, tea, and sawdust, with just a hint of rosemary . Exhaustion seemed to ooze from his pores and in truth Sirius was looking sickly. Remus felt desperation creep into his thoughts but savagely pushed it aside. He would *not* think about the possibility of losing both Harry *and* Sirius. He wouldn't. But that's just what would happen if Harry died, Remus knew.  
  
"Fine," Remus said, and cast a silencing charm around the two of them so Harry couldn't overhear their discussion. "We'll stay," he said and settled in a chair. Sirius remained standing for quite some time, staring down at his godson. Remus realized Sirius was panting, seemingly unable to take deep breaths. He held his arms tightly wrapped around his chest defensively, as if trying to ward off a chill, and his fingers were restlessly pulling on the fabric of his robes at each elbow. Finally, Remus broke the lengthening silence between them. "I'm worried about you," he said frankly. Sirius laughed, an abrupt bark, but it wasn't humorous.  
  
"I'm fine," Sirius replied. His pat answer.  
  
"Sirius, Harry's the toughest boy I've ever met. He's a survivor. He *keeps* surviving. But he needs help, and if you can't seem to see it, I'll just have to tell you. This is killing you, Sirius, and you'll be no good to Harry if you're dead," Remus said flatly.  
  
"Moony." Sirius said warningly.  
  
"No, Sirius. *This* has got to stop. I don't know if it's lack of sleep, or stress, misplaced guilt or an accumulation of everything, but you're no good to Harry like this. He's wasting his energy trying not to make you worry about *him*," Remus stated.  
  
"Misplaced.?" Sirius growled.  
  
"Sirius. look at yourself. You're falling apart, and I don't know what to do to put you back together," Remus struggled to say around the lump in his throat. He struggled to keep his emotions in check. The moment he lost control, the conversation was over, he knew.  
  
Sirius turned and quickly crossed the room, grabbing Remus by the shoulders and shaking him angrily. For a moment, Remus thought Sirius was going to hit him and braced himself for the impact, but it never came. Sirius looked searchingly into Remus' eyes, then shoved him violently away. Remus barely avoided the chair, thumping resoundingly against the wall. Air was forced out of his lungs at the impact and he had to struggle to catch his breath. He held himself still, watching Sirius stalk around the room, restless, his fists clenching and unclenching.  
  
Remus realized Sirius looked just like a caged animal and suddenly understood how close to the edge Azkaban had brought his friend. Sirius paused, looking intently at Hedwig perched atop her cage. He stared at the snowy owl for a while, and Remus frowned. What was Sirius looking at? Finally, Sirius fell to his knees in the corner before Hedwig. Shudders that ran the length of his frame told Remus Sirius was silently sobbing. Remus froze. Hedwig clearly didn't know how to interpret Sirius' behavior, so she turned his head to the side and stared at him in concern. 'You don't know the half of it,' Remus thought to the bird.  
  
Remus had no idea what to do. Should he go and comfort him, or give him space? His own instincts were confused and desperate, so he decided to trust the wolf inside. Remus crossed the room and knelt beside Sirius, gently pulled Sirius' back to his chest. This way Remus wouldn't see him cry, but he could still provide the physical comfort he sensed Sirius desperately needed.  
  
"Have you ever thought about *why* people lose their minds in Azkaban?" Sirius asked after a while. He'd been stiff and unyielding at first, but eventually relaxed into Remus. It was similar to the comfort Padfoot provided the wolf after particularly painful transformations. Companionship. Friendship. Brotherhood. Pack. Remus held his breath. Sirius never talked about his imprisonment.  
  
"Because of the painful memories," Remus replied. Sirius shook his head.  
  
"But after a time, it shouldn't matter, should it? Same story, different day. It *should* get old, right?" Sirius asked. Remus' breath caught in his throat.  
  
"The thing about Dementors is. they don't just recall your worst memories. They call them up at their peak. Every day, it never diminished." Sirius said, then paused. Remus rubbed his back soothingly but remained silent. This was the most candidly Remus had ever heard Sirius speak of his time there. "Every day, I saw James and Lily. I saw Harry, and knew the folly of *my* actions. Memories are supposed to diminish in time. fade so it becomes less painful. New memories are supposed to replace the old, fill up the voids left. *I* didn't get that," Sirius said. Remus didn't know how to reply. "To you. you've had over a decade to face the loss of James and Lily. I've only had a couple of years," Sirius said, his voice choked. "And all of the bad memories. It's like they've been burned, etched in my mind. I can see with far better clarity their deaths, Godric's Hollow, and Pettigrew's twisted face than anything else I've lived," Sirius said, his voice both bitter and apologetic at the same time.  
  
"So has Azkaban caused you to lose memories?" Remus asked, afraid to pursue his curiosity but still needing to understand his friend better. He also understood that *talking* about it might help to leach some of the poisonous guilt that still festered within Sirius.  
  
"I think it has. It's strange for me, Moony. The good memories. They're more like echoes. Faded and faint, their images are blurry and indistinct," he said wearily, and Remus felt him stiffen underneath his arms. Remus prayed his friend would remain for just a while longer in his arms. It was the most comfort he felt he'd been able to give his friends since Sirius had first arrived after completing his mission for Dumbledore. "I hate it, Moony. I hate what it's turned me into. I can't seem to help but be obsessed, and I don't know how to stop it," Sirius confessed.  
  
Remus thought on what Sirius had said, biting his lip absently. "How much did you remember when you first escaped Azkaban? Of the Marauders or Hogwarts?" Remus asked.  
  
"Hm. Not much, really, but I couldn't let myself think about it anyway. I had one thing, and one thing only on my mind," Sirius replied. Remus sighed and closed his eyes wearily for a moment.  
  
"Kill Peter," Remus murmured. Sirius nodded. "Did you get breaks from the Dementors in Azkaban? I mean, were they around all the time or just a part of the day?" Remus asked.  
  
"Meals and from midnight until six we were left alone," Sirius answered. Remus decided to push as far as he dared and gather what information as he could before Sirius closed himself off again. This was what Remus had been waiting for. to understand some of what his friend was going through.  
  
"Did any good memories come back to you then?" Remus asked. "When you were left alone?" Sirius nodded.  
  
"They did, but not for comfort. It just served as further reminder for how badly I'd failed everyone," Sirius replied, his voice flat again.  
  
"How about your memories of Godric's Hollow now? Has it faded at all since you've escaped? Lost its intensity?" Remus asked.  
  
"A little, but I think that's because I've been able to try to *do* something about it. What are you getting at, Moony?" Sirius asked, and Remus marveled that his friend still allowed him to hold him. Remus took a moment to try to gather his thoughts, knowing he had to say this right.  
  
"I think." Remus said thoughtfully, then paused. Sirius finally pulled out of his arms, turning to face him. He sat on the ground with his knees pulled to his chest, his eyes red and irritated. His five o'clock shadow made his face that much more pale, and his long black hair was disheveled in a way that reminded Remus a lot of *that* night in the Shrieking Shack. The night a wild man had returned to his life and changed everything he *thought* he knew, and gave him a second chance at hope.  
  
"You're killing me, here. Spit it out," Sirius said, his mouth slightly quirked even as his face remained exhausted and solemn.  
  
"Have you ever heard of memory repression?" Remus asked. Sirius shook his head. "Muggle terminology. Ever heard of it?" Remus asked.  
  
"But my problem isn't about memory repression. Quite the opposite," Sirius said, frowning. He began to rock back and forth, using the balls of his feet, and Remus had to force the lump in his throat to go away. Sirius looked so lost, so childlike himself.  
  
"Sometimes, something can happen that is *so* bad, so traumatic, that the mind doesn't know how to deal with it. Your mind can repress the memory of the event, or develop all kinds of ways not to think about, face, or otherwise deal with it until something deep inside thinks you're strong enough to face it," Remus said thoughtfully.  
  
"But I didn't repress anything," Sirius protested. Moony held up a hand.  
  
"Let me finish, here. Sometimes. repressing the memory *isn't* the best thing for you. Sometimes the victim spends so much time trying not to think about *it*, that whatever memory they've been trying to repress comes back tenfold times worse than before," Remus continued, now in full professor mode.  
  
"Yes, yes. Is there a point sometime soon?" Sirius asked, rolling his eyes. He was beginning to recover some of his composure now, but Remus knew he needed to pursue this theory to its fullest.  
  
"Now let's look at the Dementors. Same theory. Worst memories of your life constantly replayed. It's a wound that never heals, never scabs, never ends. The equivalent of a flashback, only more so. It consumes you, makes you relive it. In essence, it takes up so much of your thoughts and feelings that it leaves little room for anything else," Remus said. Sirius was paying full attention now. "Now yours was magically induced, but that makes it worse, not better. I have no doubt you would still be horribly haunted by these events even had you not gone to prison, but not like you are now," Remus said, then paused.  
  
"So." Sirius prompted Remus irritably.  
  
"I'm trying to tell you that I don't think your good memories are gone, faded or diminished in any way," Remus explained.  
  
"You don't?" Sirius asked. Remus shook his head. "Then what *do* you think?" he asked.  
  
"That the memories you've been forced to relive for so long have drowned them out with their intensity, and that once *those* memories begin to diminish, other memories long forgotten, good memories, will return," Remus said.  
  
"It doesn't feel like they're fading, Remus. And I've unfortunately added a few more to Sirius' Top Ten List that I hadn't had before; Harry when he collapses in my arms at the Dursley's, when he stopped breathing just now, his face as he told Dumbledore about what happened after he disappeared in the maze. I don't feel like anything's diminishing. It's just morphing into new bad memories," Sirius said in resignation, his head falling wearily onto his knees as he continued to rock back and forth.  
  
"Then we'll just need to fill up the void faster with better memories," Remus murmured.  
  
"What if there are no better memories? What if this is it, and I lose Harry tomorrow?" Sirius demanded. Remus knew the truth of the words. His own conversation with Harry still haunted him.  
  
"Then make today better," Remus replied firmly. Sirius turned and stared at him.  
  
"Are you daft?" he asked, frustration beginning to vie with annoyance at Remus' disgusting optimism in the face of an obviously hopeless situation. Sirius stared at Harry for a moment, and oddly his lip curled into a sneer. "I can't even talk to him or reassure him. He's unconscious!" Remus sighed. Sirius was missing the point, or at least blithely ignoring it.  
  
"Sirius, I can't tell you why. Merlin knows they've certainly not happened too often to me.but I still believe in miracles. Harry survived the killing curse as a baby. No training, no manifestations that either you or I *ever* saw, yet he defeated the darkest wizard in our lifetime. If a rabbit is going to be pulled out of the hat." Sirius frowned at the Muggle reference but didn't interrupt, "Harry's going to do it," Remus said.  
  
"I'm tired, Mooney. And I don't know how much more I have to give," Sirius replied, rubbing his face tiredly with his hands. Remus heard the scratch of Sirius' stubble against his palms and could practically taste his friend's fatigue and exhaustion.  
  
"Then sleep, Padfoot. And know this. Harry's not stupid. The more together you are for him, the better he'll feel as well. He's far too observant for his own good, so you can't fake it. You need more rest, and yes, even some time alone or away from him. There's nothing wrong with that. If the roles were reversed I guarantee you Harry would be relying on his friends for support and spending time at the creek, or playing Quidditch," Remus stated, knowing it to be true. He'd seen it clearly during his time at Hogwarts. A time he'd cherished. Remus sighed. Again. He'd been doing that a lot this conversation.  
  
"I almost lost him," Sirius whispered. "Even after all this time, I still can't protect him," he said.  
  
"But he's not alone. Not anymore. You're insuring that," Remus said comfortingly.  
  
"But in the visions, he *is* alone with Voldemort," Sirius said, his voice fading to a whisper.  
  
"He's still alive, Sirius. He's still The Boy Who Lived, even after all this time. *He still keeps facing him!* I know how it feels. It feels like we could lose him at any second. We almost did. But he's still here, Sirius, and he *needs* you. Not the guilt-wracked man Azkaban tried to make, but the one I've seen. The one who set the twins on end and makes bad jokes a career choice. The one who's seen too much, but has come through it, who knows he's screwed up like everybody else but also knows he's paid *far* more penance than any human ever should be asked to. Who drinks tea that more closely resembles battery acid and flirts shamelessly with Molly for food," Remus said. Sirius took a deep breath, and Remus could sense some of the tension leave Sirius' posture.  
  
"I'm lost, Mooney. I'm failing James and Lily, and I can't shake the feeling that things will get *much* worse before there's even a hope they'll get better," Sirius muttered, and Remus realized Sirius was falling asleep. Remus didn't respond, but rather let his friend drift off. Sirius' eyes closed as his slowly ceased to rock, his breath evening out. Remus sat beside him and watched him for a while.  
  
When Sirius woke up again, Remus would suggest he join Harry in bed as Padfoot. In their brief time together before collecting Harry, Remus had realized how difficult it was for Sirius to sleep. He had a much easier time sleeping as Padfoot. Snuffles, Remus corrected with a wry smile.and although in Animagus form Sirius still had nightmares, he didn't seem as shaken by them the next morning.  
  
Sirius refrained from changing at the Weasley's because he was self- conscious about his nightmares, but after the conversation Remus had just had, he'd realized how starved Sirius was for comfort himself. As a dog, Remus knew, Snuffles could plop next to Harry on the bed and sleep with him, or nuzzle him shamelessly. He could, in essence, remain closer to Harry without crowding him, and weasel past some of Harry's astonishingly well developed defense mechanisms designed to keep people out from what he was truly feeling. Much like a certain ex-convict Remus knew.  
  
*If* Harry survived this, and Remus had taken to praying to whatever gods were handy for just that, Remus had no doubt that Sirius *could* heal. Sighing, Remus looked over at the sleeping boy again and was stunned to see Harry watching him, his eyes too intense to gauge. He just hoped that Harry would be able to heal as well.  
  
TBC  
  
Phoenix, Endriago Luna, Starchime, Harriet, Lady Foxfire, Kapies, Prami, AllAboutMe, Mihoshe, Lothey, Lyta Padfoot, Lizard, Tsukino Kokaku, Badger Lord, Someone, Nicole Williams, Hyper Princess (of course, don't I always? g), WeasleyTwinsLover1112, Japangirlcarley24, blank, Kayla, ratgirl, Chibi Neko Rina, Essence of Magic, ShelaghC, illustrious sorrow, SpiderGirl05, enchantress646, Centra-gal86, Katie Weasley, Starlette Whisper: Thank you all so much for your kind reviews. A lot of you had questions about the girl. I'm sorry for the cliffie, but this segment fleshed out far more than I expected. Next chapter you'll get some theories. I'm *really* glad the general consensus appears to be you approve of Snape, even with the POV shift. There really is a method to my madness. Bwah hah hah hah. ahem Anyway, thanks for reviewing!!! I love to read your comments and thoughts!  
  
Kate the Great: Yep, I've definitely had Snape be quiet. That's one of the reasons why I really wanted you to see the inside of his head. I *certainly* didn't see him just speaking normally, in spite of what Dumbledore asked of him. I don't think he has it in him to be falsely polite. If nothing else, at least Snape is genuine.  
  
Caitlin: That will get addressed soon, I promise, or at least you'll get to hear some theories on it.  
  
Malexandria: I know it's jarring, but there's a method to my madness. Really. Stick with it. Hopefully there will come a point when you see why I felt it had to be so. 8-)  
  
SilverWolf: DP?  
  
Kaydee: I love how much you write in your reviews. I also love that you tell me what you're favorite part of it was. It really pleases me to read that you notice the things I really put a lot into. Thank you so much! I'm glad you liked Willaby. I just realized I wanted to explain some additional things about the ties of the Dark Mark, and presto! I worried, because up until now I've only used actual HP characters. I didn't want Willaby to jar. I'm glad I've still got you guessing plot wise. Go me! Hehehehe.. Deep deep deep down indeed. g Thank you so much for the terrific review! I look forward to the next one (am I subtle, or what?)  
  
Von: Something like that. G A little different, but don't think I didn't contemplate that one! Good catch! 8-)  
  
AstraCMXXV: Thanks. I just felt that Harry had far enough going on in his life, and that romance tends to put the adults backstage, which I *definitely* didn't want. 


	20. Please, Sir, Can I Have Another?

Author's Notes:  Okay, I normally don't have extra written chapters in reserve, but my beta's on vacation so I *had* to get my stuff proofed before she left.  I'm too much of a coward to post without proofing.  But I have to post because I'm dying to try Sou's suggestion and see if my formatting sticks (Thank you so much for the tip!  I *hugely* appreciate it!!! g).  I *love* italics.  It makes thoughts more intimate when you know you're channeling the character's thoughts directly.  I've missed them in my chapters, and I hate how my borders between character's perspectives don't appear all of the time (I really do have borders, and don't mean to make you guess who's perspective you're reading).  So here's hoping it works!   Remember, notes to reviewers are at the end of the chapter now.

Disclaimer: Sigh  Still not mine…

**Chapter 20**

Percy Weasley paced the length of his tiny, windowless office.  The spells that illuminated his room flickered irritatingly, as they always had, and Percy, who, in more liquored up moments (_Last year's office Christmas party, to be precise.  He'd sworn off mixed drinks… they were far too tasty… that New Years after seeing the pictures), swore that he heard *buzzing* whenever he was there.  Percy scuffed his shoes against the shiny floor restlessly, having found himself in a place he *really* didn't like to be: conflicted.  Sighing heavily, he absently twirled his wand between his forefinger and thumb._

Minister Cornelius Fudge had formally filed the paperwork to question Harry.  Percy frowned as he remembered the telltale scrawl of signature at the bottom of the scroll that now seemed so foreboding.  

Percy loved his job.  It was detail-oriented, precise, litigious, and informed him of *everyone*'s business.  Marriages, divorces, warrants, certificates, awards, deaths, property seizures.  If it required parchment and quill (_especially multiple copies), it crossed his desk.  Minister Fudge had given him this job early in his career.  At first Percy had taken it as an insult.  After all, he *knew* he was intended for great things within the Ministry, but he understood that '__we all have to spend time in the trenches, lad', although Minister Fudge himself was an upstart, a lateral transfer from the Grindelwald Recovery Foundation.  _

Percy had diligently ignored the whispered implications that *this* assignment was one-way, that no one got promoted from his present position.  Eventually Percy found himself thriving in his job.  A lesser man would have run screaming from the bureaucratic nightmare which were his daily duties, but to Percy it was one giant, intricate puzzle with missing pieces and multiple pictures.  It was utterly fascinating.  

The down side to all of this of course was that he'd become, as the only *underling* Weasley in Fudge's employ (_His dad was far too familiar with Headmaster Dumbledore for Minister Fudge's liking), the unofficial delegate of the Fudge brigade to find out all things related to Harry Potter.  Percy still had his doubts about You Know Who's return.  After all, he didn't believe much until he'd actually seen it himself.  But he *knew* that Harry would never hurt a Spanish Fly (__Fly, Percy.  Fly.  Not Spanish Fly.  Never again), and that he'd even shown the utmost respect to Cedric Diggory during their time as competitors in the Triwizard Tournament.  _

He'd felt like the proper fool for grilling Harry about what happened with the Dursleys.  He'd always known Harry's holidays spent with them had been unpleasant, but he'd never dreamed it had gone as far as it had.  The questions Minister Fudge had instructed Percy to ask had been foolish and condescending, but he'd asked nonetheless…  Until Ron came uncorked, that is.  Percy's face flamed with shame at the memory of his youngest brother scolding him roundly.  

But the thing that chilled Percy now, what he desperately wished he could understand, was *why* Harry had responded the way he had to the newspaper article Minister Fudge had insisted Percy show him.  Harry acted as if he'd recognized some of the faces.  How could he know these people?  There weren't very many students from Hogwarts, and Percy knew that Harry didn't have the opportunity to meet many people.  In fact, Percy knew Harry's travel itinerary consisted of: the Dursleys, Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, and the Burrow.  So why had Harry backed away, making a strange noise in his throat that was almost a keen, and run upstairs without any discussion at all?

This was the question that burned within Percy now, and he knew it was a question that needed answering.  So he'd done the unforgivable… at least as far as his father would be concerned, once he found out about it.  And most certainly the rest of his family as well.  He'd approved the questioning of Harry Potter.  

Percy sighed again, now flipping his wand distractedly, end over end, only partially paying attention to catching it.  He liked Harry, and always had.  He was a good kid.  But there was far too much unanswered, and with the whisperings of disappearing wizards and witches at every turn, if Harry knew more about it than the Ministry… well that would have to change.  Some secrets shouldn't be kept.  Percy stood by the recommendations he'd submitted in his report.  He just hoped that someday the rest of his family would understand *why*.  

************************************************************

He's drifted in and out of consciousness now for two days.  The damage done by the Cruciatus Curse has been nearly healed, but the lingering symptoms that I've been struggling against are back in full force.  Potter's tremors, chills, and lack of muscular control are as bad as I've seen them.  Black has taken to sleeping with Potter in mutt form, lying at the foot of the bed and casting soulful glances at whomever enters Potter's room.  To be fair, it was Black who first noticed that Potter was no longer unconscious, but rather asleep.  I'm not a gambling man, but with Potter's luck I've been ready to pounce at the first sign of rapid eye movement, just to insure he rests without risking more *dreams*.  

"….mmmmph…" the lump from the bed murmurs.  The other lump.  Black's ears have perked up and it's clear he's about to return to human form, but I hold out a hand.  

"Black…  I need to ask him about what happened.  If you're hovering like a mother hen he might very well clam up," I say.  I think it's rather nice of me.  No biting comments.  Nothing snide.  Just honesty.  He blinks at me, considering my request.  Snuffing through his nose, he settles back down at the foot of the bed.  Okay.  He's not leaving, which is what I'd hoped for, but I'll take him staying in Animagus form.  It takes some of the pressure off Potter worrying about his reactions.  

Green eyes peer blearily up at me as I seat myself beside Potter's bed.  

"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter," I say.  He tries to bury his face in his pillow.  

"mmmph… go away…" Potter mutters, his voice scratchy and raw.   Promising.  He's not babbling or foaming at the mouth.  He's somewhat coherent.  Very good news indeed.  

"Wouldn't you like a sip of water?" I ask, holding a freshly poured glass of cool water forth, the straw flopping from one side to the other enticingly. 

"…..mmmm…" Potter murmurs, but he turns back to face me and I'm looking at his weary expression once more.  There is a great deal of red in his eyes.  Frowning, I lean forward even as he struggles to pull himself up to a partially sitting position.  His breath hitches, so I know he still feels lingering pain, but he doesn't complain.  Gryffindor pride.  Setting the glass aside for a moment, I reach under his armpits and physically lift him, suppressing a shudder at how skeletal he is.  There's hardly any weight to lift.  I ignore his astonished expression at helping him sit.  He blinks tiredly, absently reaching for his glasses.  I shake my head and still his hand a moment.  Frowning deeper, I peer more intently into his face.  

"What?" Potter asks sleepily, his eyes still unfocused as he looks up at me, his eyes crossing at the closeness of my face.  He has popped blood vessels on both his eyelids, making him look like he's got two black eyes.  Indications of extreme internal pressure.  Usually I've seen this sort of thing with prolonged dry heaves.  There is very little white within his eyes as well.  In fact there are broken and swollen vessels throughout his eyes, and I can faintly see a milky white substance on the surface of his retina.  I glance over at Black, who's watching my scrutiny with concern.  

"Do you think you can hold the glass?" I ask the boy.  He scowls at me, so I smirk as I hand him the glass, keeping up pretenses. Pride aside, he still nearly drops it, before simply resting it on a pillow on his lap and leaning forward to sip, his eyes shutting blissfully as the liquid hits his throat. I'm actually quite concerned.  These signs are an escalation of his previous symptoms, but there is no need to alarm him at this point.  Absently, I set his glasses beside the glass as I stand.  Black slips off the bed and pads after me to the corner of the room.  

"Let Madam Pomfrey know I'd like her to come by when she has a moment.  Also, bring some broth up when you return,"  I instruct him.  He remains sitting at my feet.  Awaiting an explanation.  Ah, for a good old fashioned house elf.  "I would like her to examine him for additional injuries inflicted due to his visions," I say.  He still sits there.  I sigh martyrishly and glare for a moment, but I give in, as he knew I would.  "Look at his eyes.  I'm not comfortable with the broken vessels in and around them," I explain.  He nods once and bounds out of the room.  I don't utter my fears aloud.  I don't ask Potter if his vision seems unusually blurred.

"What?" Potter asks, leaning back against the pillows as he hands me the empty glass.  Good.  I fill the glass again and hand it to him.

"What indeed, Mr. Potter," I reply.  He looks at me, and his eyes seem so… old, yet there's a happiness there I haven't seen in a while.  I frown.  "Your cheerfulness worries me.  Would you care to explain?" I ask.  Frank and to the point.  Good for me.  No insults.  He smirks as he rests the glass on his lap again.  His fingers can barely collect the straw for him to sip.  

"Is cheerfulness a crime?" he asks, and his stomach growls loudly.  His eyes widen and he turns faintly red, then shrugs.  

"Black will be back in a few moments with some broth.  In the meantime, I must insist you tell me about your dream.  Something happened there, something different, and if I'm to continue to try to help you I need to know exactly what it was," I say firmly.  He bites his lip for a moment, and I can see his internal dialogue like a stock ticker across his face.  I raise an eyebrow in annoyance.  "There's nothing to debate, Potter," I instruct.  He looks at me and shrugs again.  Annoying habit, that.

"For the past several weeks, there have been brief moments, on occasion, when right before someone dies, they see me," he says seriously.  Hmm.  Not what I expected.  

"In your visions?" I ask.  He raises an eyebrow at me.  "Yes, yes, stupid question," I wave off his expression.  "What do they appear to see?  Do they speak to you?" I ask, suppressing a shudder.  I feel queasy to think what he's seen.  He's fifteen.  Potter considers my question for a moment. 

"I think I'm like a ghost.  I certainly can't touch anything.  Mostly, they'll notice me, whereas they hadn't before.  They'll stare at me," he says, his eyes growing distant as his voice fades.  

"You say it's right before they die.  Who kills them?" I ask, interrupting his thoughts.  

"I think it's only been when Voldemort kills them, but I'm not sure.  Only three times has someone ever spoken to me," he says.  

"What did they say?" I ask.  The hair rises on my forearms.  They've spoken to him?  Merlin.  I fight the urge to close my own eyes against the memories that flood my mind.  Pleas for help.  Cries for forgiveness.

"The first was an old woman.  This was a while ago.  She told me to wake up.  The second was a little girl.  The third was the girl's mother.  She told me 'thank you'," Potter says.  

"What did the little girl say?" I ask, my heart in my throat.  Potter had danced around what had been said there.  _Of course he's seen children murdered, I berate myself.  I know better than anyone just what horrors he's seen.  Merlin help him.  _

"Well…  that's the interesting part," he says, and oddly his face lights up.  I lean forward and listen eagerly as he recounts his dream.  As I've not read his journal, it's a stark reminder of what he faces night after night.  "…so you see, if I take that potion again, I'll be able to stay deep enough in the dream to help people," he says.  My wandering mind snaps back to the present.  I blink.  Slowly.  Quite a few times.

"What on earth makes you think I'm going to give it to you again?" I ask, shocked.  He pauses then, his enthusiasm wavering.  

"Because I saved her life.  I *know* she made it, professor," he says, his eyes now pleading.  

"Potter, you almost died.  No.  Scratch that.  You *did* die.  Look at you.  You can't even hold a cup.  I'm not giving you anything," I say.  His face falls.  

"But…" he protests.  He's exhausted.  The bags under his eyes are far too dark.  The broken vessels speak more clearly to me than any words he could ever say.  Normally he wouldn't argue with me, but clearly his judgment is impaired.  

"Have other children seen you in your dreams?" I ask.  This is the part I don't want to talk about, but I know we must.  He shakes his head.  

"No.  Only right before they die.  A couple saw me then.  They begged…" Potter says, then abruptly his mouth snaps shut.  His eyes are pools of pain as he looks at me.  "I helped her,  Professor.  I… don't make me powerless again," he says softly.  I swallow, my mouth dry as cotton.  Sighing, I lean forward and look intently into his eyes.  

"Potter.  There is a time and place for all things.  Your time will come, but it's not today," I say.  I understand his overwhelming need.  To do something to make things right.  To think a bitter old man like me is overwhelmed with the need to do penance is something few people understand.  Okay.  Two.  Albus and Minerva.  I understand his refusal to sit by and idly watch others suffer.  I see in his expression that he's exhausted, and I've stripped the only thing that's made his visions bearable, that allows him to fulfill that bizarre 'Hero' complex he seems to have.  So, I throw the boy a bone; some small measure of hope.  

"You have proven you don't just observe in your visions, you can participate.  You say you cannot interact physically.  Try other ways," I suggest.  He frowns for a moment and looks at me.  I see from his expression that he's wondering if I'm humoring him.  "Have you tried magic?" I ask him.  His eyes go vacant for a moment, then his eyebrows raise and he purses his lips thoughtfully, just as Black returns with beef broth.  Leave it to The Boy Who Lived, hero of the wizarding world, to *not* think of trying magic.  _Heaven help us all.  I stand up and swirl around the chair, allowing Black to take my place.  _

"Make sure he eats all of it, and more if he'll take it.  I'm returning to the castle to do some more research," I instruct Black.  He turns those fierce blue eyes on me, and I know he's thinking I'm not going to come near his godson with anything resembling a cup.  I smile darkly.  He may feel that way now, but wait until tonight.  He reads my expression correctly, and if he were a mutt, I'm sure he'd have bitten me.  As it is, he turns his back on me and sets the tray on the nightstand, settling in to help his godson eat.  

"Thanks, Professor," Harry calls, his voice firm but faint.  I nod briefly and leave the room.  Refusing to feel pleased by how much more cheerful he is.

In retrospect, I think I might have even noticed that damnable rat as I returned downstairs to pack my trunk.  I *know* I saw a shadow out of the corner of my eye, but thought nothing of it at the time.  There are so many distractions at the Burrow, each more annoying than the next, that I tend to tune out all but the most pertinent details…  This of course includes most conversations unless I'm interested.  Hindsight, they say, is 20/20.

**************************************************

 "I can't keep doing this.  There has to be some way to help," Ron said in exasperation.  He threw his knight on the Wizard's chessboard angrily.  The rest of his men cursed him soundly, raising Hermione's eyebrow.  

"That's rather… explicit," she observed.  

"I'll give you one guess," Ron said between his fingers as he scrubbed his face in frustration. 

"One too many," Hermione replied.  The twins.  

"Do you think we should go up there?"  Ron asked anxiously.  It had been days since he'd seen Harry awake, and he found he needed to reassure himself that his friend was still alright.  Hermione smiled.  

"Give Sirius time to feed him.  He's self conscious in front of us about how weak he is.  I'd much rather him eat his fill up before we visit," she said.  Ron sighed, biting the side of his cheek.  

"I've got to do something," Ron said after a pause.  He was positively bursting with the need to do something, *anything*, to try to help his friend.

"What do you suggest we do?" Hermione asked curiously.  She recognized when he had an idea, but just didn't know how to broach it.

"I overheard how dad's been trying to help Dumbledore," Ron said.  Hermione sat forward, interested.  

"Yes?  What's he doing?" she asked.  

"Trying to find a… parchment trail," Ron said, trying to remember the correct phrase.  

"A paper trail?" Hermione said, raising an eyebrow with a small smile beginning to light up her tired face.  

"A parchment trail," Ron corrected.  

"I know what it means.  It means they think Fudge's left some sort of bureaucratic proof…  So… Mr. Weasley's trying to find what Fudge is doing with the bodies, then?" Hermione asked.  Ron suppressed a smile.  It was amazing how focused Hermione got once she found something that interested her.  And how smart she was.  Ron nodded.

"That's it.  But apparently he's discouraged because there's *so* much to go through," Ron said.  

"Ron, you're brilliant," Hermione said, her eyes shining.  Ron frowned.  

"I am?" Ron asked.  

"Sure.  Think about it.  You want to *do* something to help out?  Let's see if we can get Mr. Weasley to bring some of the paperwork home.  You and I can go through it!" Hermione said in triumph.  

"Hermione, what would we be looking for?" Ron asked, eager to find *something* to try to get the Ministry off Harry's back, but unsure what they could do.  

"The same as Mr. Weasley.  Something peculiar," Hermione answered.  

"Like?" Ron asked.  As much as he wanted to be helpful, he was also concerned that if they divvied up the work and he *missed* something, no one might ever see it.  He didn't say this to Hermione, but she shook her head, her hair floating around her face like an unwieldy dandelion. 

It was raining outside, and Ron found that he could predict the weather by Hermione's hair.  The frizzier and curlier her hair was, the greater the chance for precipitation.  Refocusing on the present, Ron watched as Hermione began putting away the chess pieces.  

"I helped mum and dad figure out that an employee of theirs was stealing money from the business once," Hermione said.  

"How did you find it?"  Ron asked, intrigued.  

"Patterns.  They kept padding money onto small purchases that didn't require receipts.  Unless you knew the exact amount, a few pounds either way wouldn't be noticed.  But add it up even for a month, and suddenly you've got thousands," Hermione said.  

"Pounds?" Ron asked.  Hermione shook her head impatiently.

"Muggle money," Hermione explained.  

"So that's what you think Fudge is doing?" Ron asked.  Hermione shook her head.  

"No, but I *do* think he's still got to have money.  He's not doing this by himself.  We've already determined that.  So then the question remains:  How is he doing it?  He'll need money and manpower, and he'll need to justify it to the Ministry.  But he can't just come out and say, 'I want money to persecute Harry Potter and cover up the fact that You Know Who has returned,' will he?  He'll hide it, call it something else," Hermione said.  

"Do you really think we can find it?" Ron asked her.  Hermione nodded her head enthusiastically.  

"Ron, you're brilliant at strategy and I'm good at research.  I think between the two of us we've got more than a chance.  Now we've just got to convince your dad to let us help," Hermione said, looking at Ron expectantly.  

Ron stood up, his heart racing.  He wanted to start *now*, right this second.  Finally, something he could do!  He'd been waiting on the sidelines for far too long, and he was getting restless.  

*It* was coming.  Ron knew he was getting jittery.  For a moment, he'd even thought he might have seen that wanker Scabbers last night.  After rubbing his eyes, the shadow was gone, but it had spooked Ron enough to actually ask about Crookshanks, who he realized he hadn't seen since Hermione had arrived.  

Hermione had actually looked hurt.  Ron thought he'd upset her to even ask… They did have a bitter history with that bloody cat, anyways, but he'd moved on.  In the end, the cat had been right.  

"I wasn't…" Ron had begun to say, but Hermione raised her hand and shook her head.  

"It's okay, Ron.  It's not you.  He's been missing now for a couple of weeks," Hermione said sadly.  Ron frowned.  

"Why didn't you mention it?" he had asked his friend.  She looked at him and raised an eyebrow.  

"Like you would have cared?" she had asked.  Ron felt heat rising to his face.  

"I may not *love* your cat, but he's important to you, so, yes, I care," he'd replied angrily.  Hermione sighed.  

"Sorry, sorry.  I'm just hurt, that's all.  I miss him.  I could really use his company right now, you know?" she'd asked, her eyes frank.  Ron pictured all the times Crookshanks nestled on her lap.  His eyes would cross as he purred loudly.  He always seemed to *know* when she was settling in to sit for more than a few moments, and would promptly claim her lap as his own.  She'd stroke him absently even as she studied, or when she was particularly unhappy or stressed.  Of course, the cat also had the uncanny ability to lay on parchments or books of any sort the moment they were spread on the table.  He nodded.  "He's been acting weird since right before we left Hogwarts last year," Hermione said.  Ron frowned.  He hadn't known about this.  

"What do you mean 'weird'?" Ron had asked.  After all, most everything about that cat was rather bizarre.

"Well…  One time I came up to visit Harry.  I'd 'borrowed' his invisibility cloak," Hermione said, looking guilty at the confession.  Ron was stunned.  He'd done the same thing.  

Things had gone so badly so quickly at the end of fourth year, that sometimes Ron had had to reassure himself that Harry was even still there at all, that he was alive and alright…  Well, sort of alright.  "It was really early in the morning.  Three or so," Hermione continued, gauging Ron's reaction to her confession.  Ron shook his head.  

"I did it, too," Ron said with a reassuring smile.  She smiled in return, and it lit up her face.  It was an understanding between them, then.  He'd begun to feel, well, a bit protective of Harry.  He hadn't been too clear how to interpret that, but was pleased to learn Hermione evidently felt the same way as well.  

"Crookshanks was sitting beside Harry on the bed," Hermione said.  Ron frowned.  Crookshanks typically didn't do that with anyone but Hermione.  

"That's weird," Ron said.  Hermione nodded.  

"I thought so, too.  But he's sensitive.  I mean, he always seems to know when I'm upset, so I thought at the time that he must be picking up on Harry's unhappiness," Hermione continued.  Ron suppressed a sigh at that.  Unhappiness was the understatement of the century.

"Makes sense.  Is that it?" Ron asked, frowning.  Hermione shook her head.  

"No.  He was at Harry's elbow.  The one he got hurt?" Hermione said.  Ron nodded.  "He was sniffing Harry's elbow like the scent fascinated him.  It was kind of creepy.  He had the strangest expression, Ron.  I swear he looked… furious.  His eyes were squinted and his mouth partially open…  It was creepy," she said, and her face had gone pale.  Whatever she'd seen, it still spooked her.  Of course, just seeing Crookshanks in the middle of the night had spooked Ron on more than one occasion.  Did he mention he was a weird cat?

"Did he do anything else?" Ron had prompted.  Hermione shook her head.  

"No.  I took him home, and he was fine for a couple of days… but then he ran away.  I haven't seen him since," Hermione said sadly.  Ron frowned.  That was an awful long time.  

"Is that normal?  Has he ever done that before?" Ron asked.  Hermione nodded.  

"Yes, but never for this long.  A week at most," she said.  

"I'm sure he's okay," Ron said, trying to reassure her.  But it didn't reassure him.  He knew he'd been seeing things, but he still would have felt a great deal better if Crookshanks had been there.   

Sirius distracted them both by coming downstairs with an empty tray.  Ron and Hermione both stood up.  He looked more cheerful than he'd been than he had in days.  

"How is he?" Ron asked.  Sirius smiled.  

"In good spirits," Sirius replied.  "I'm getting seconds," he said, indicating the empty bowl.  

"Brilliant," Ron said, and meant it.  

"Can we see him?" Hermione asked excitedly.  

"Let him have a go at another bowl first, then by all means.  He's been asking about you," Sirius said.  Ron felt his smile stretch wider.  Nodding, Ron sat and watched Sirius join the other adults in the kitchen.  

"I'll ask dad when he gets home tonight, okay?" Ron asked Hermione.  She nodded brightly.  They locked eyes for a moment, then jumped as Snape appeared, trunk floating obediently behind him.  

"How touching," Snape observed dryly.  Ron blushed furiously, and saw Hermione frowning disapprovingly.  "I'm so sorry to *interrupt* you two, but I must be going.  Be sure to keep trying to get Mr. Potter to eat and drink," he instructed.  Ron nodded obediently.  "Do *try* to keep him out of trouble, would you, Ms. Granger?" Snape asked.  Ron scowled and Hermione nodded her head eagerly, but Snape had already turned his back on them, throwing floo powder in the fireplace.

Ron rolled his eyes at Hermione, who smirked, her eyes dancing.  In truth, Ron had to admit that this had been the most… tolerable… Snape had ever been.  No one noticed the small shape leap into the fire just as Snape did.  

TBC…

Sou:  Thanks so much for the tip!  I'm posting early just to try it out!  8-)

Harriet, Elizabeth, Centra-gal86, Cedric, serena cherry, amysalinsky2000, Gabriela, Von, Jeva, Sherylyn, Prami, Blade McKay, sk8reagle:  Thank you so much for your kind words!  Yep, Anna seems to be pretty well received, poor thing.  8-(

Kathy:  It's a nice idea, but unfortunately Sirius will be having a lot on his mind soon... Bwah hah hah hah.  

Tanya:  Thank you.  I don't know if Snape will ever be a regular human being… g but he sure keeps things interesting!  I'll address this a little more in later chapters, but it does appear that way.  Of course, wouldn't it be all the time?  There's more to this than meets the eye, but I hope by the time I address it, it'll make sense!  I'm glad you like Lupin.  I read up on animal symbolism, and the Wolf is considered the teacher, and the dog is considered the guardian.  Once again, J.K. astonishes me.  Wow.  So needless to say, I've been reading up a lot on what animals represent and how it relates to the story.  I hope you won't be disappointed!  Yes, you can now see that's exactly what Harry wanted, irregardless of what damage it could do to him.  She is, of course, but mostly for *why*.  I'm really glad you like the story, and thanks a million for reviewing!

Lizard:  I totally agree!  It's got to be so hard on him, and all he's witnessed.  Truly, how can anyone even comprehend what he witnesses and how it will affect him?  You can see how much happier he is now that he's been able to actually *do* something!  Yep, I relate to Snape too, except he's a lot more honest about it than I am.  Ah, if I could only tell the annoying twit… ahem others in my life what I think instead of grinning and bearing it.  All for a paycheck.  sigh  Moi?  Thank you so much!  blushes happily  

-_-  :  You're sure taking this seriously.  I'll even address at some point *just for you*, but please, there's a lot more to the story than this.  Besides, consider the source from whence it came.  No one other than Snape has mentioned that.  Don't you think he might be a bit… biased?  

FirePixie28: Sure, and thanks for the nice compliment!  I saw I was on your list when I got your email address.  Thank you *very* much!  8-)

Kapies:  See, I even updated sooner than expected!  Enjoy!

WeasleyTwinsLover1112:  *One* misspelling!  One!  lol  Yes, yes…  I'm busted.  Thanks for pointing that out.  But in my defense, it only happened once!  8-)  crosses fingers and doesn't bother to check previous chapters

Tempest Princess:  I know.  Poor Remus!  He's much like Harry in so many ways.  He's born with something that sets him apart, permanently ostracizing him from the rest of society, that does nothing but cause him pain.  It's nothing he wanted or asked for, and would trade it away in a heartbeat.  Yes, he and Harry have much in common…

Illustrious sorrow:  Sorry about the cliffy, but I can't help it.  I can only write so much in a week!  Besides, I have to admit it keeps people coming back for more.  Blame the other authors on this site.  They're the ones who've shown me the way (and then leave me hanging, the rat ba$^@*!$)   g

AllAboutMe:  I must say that I love your name.  It's darling!  After all, it's All About Me…  ba dum dum.  Thank you, thank you.  I'll be appearing nightly through Thursday  I'm glad you liked the dream.  It was a careful balance.  I didn't want too much emphasis to be on Anne's parents' deaths.  That will be hard enough for her to deal with.  I wanted to be more about Harry, his empathy and desperate need to help, and how his entire perspective on the visions can change though one positive event.  This is certainly not to say that all visions in the future will be happy and nice.  It's just he's now got a glimmer of hope. 

Kaydee:  Yep.  I agree with that.  I'm glad her characterization rang true.  I keep having glimmers of the mature Harry peek through.  In truth, I see him more that way all the time now, but he still strives to be as he was for those who love him.  But how can he not be mature in the face of all he's endured?   Yes, I think that fact that Snape sees what Harry goes through now, time and again, plays an integral part in his perception of him.  It's still a hard thing for Snape to do:  Reconcile the boy Harry is with who Snape perceived him to be.  Yes, silly!  Of course I like your reviews!  8-)  I'm glad you liked Willaby.  I did too.  Ooooh!  What a nice compliment about Snape!  blushes  I've come across some characterizations I adore, but so many tend to polarize at some point, and that's just not Snape.  He's as far in the middle of things as anyone can be.  He's not *all* good, and he's certainly not *all* bad.  He's… complicated.  I'm glad you liked what I tried to convey about Azkaban.  I just started pondering it one day, and realized that people can build a tolerance to most things, no matter how painful…  So how would the Dementors remain effective after 12 years time?  Also, there's one thing I never addressed in the story, but bothers me greatly.  If a person's most painful moments are what haunt them in Azkaban, and the Death Eaters who don't regret their actions are there…  Wouldn't the people who are most regretful for what they've done be the most affected by the Dementors, and those who were *glad* they tortured Muggles, etc.  be, well, just reliving the time Tommy took their toy wand or Mum refused to let them go to Diagon Alley on their own?  Hmmm.  I'm not sure about the time schedule for the Dementors.  Either way, it will still work, so I'll leave it for now.  Must push on with the story!  And I'm still keeping you guessing, huh?  Hehehehehe.  Go me!

Mihoshe, Me:  Breathe.  Harry's okay.  See?  And I even updated sooner.  g

SilverWolf:  8-)  Well, it might help with the continuity… g

Sakura Le:  I'm so glad you like my fic!  Thanks for reading and reviewing it!  

Hyper Princess:  Of course I will!  Glad you liked it.  More to come…

Rozebunny:  Well…  looks around nervously  not for a while yet…  crosses fingers

Kate the Great:  Thanks.  I had fun with that line, too.  I switched it from Remus worrying about  Sirius (he's always worrying, poor thing) to transitioning his worry to Harry as well.  

SpiderGirl05:  Hmmm.  I'm not sure about that.  I hadn't even considered it, truthfully.  I've got an original story to get back to, so it might be a bit before I do.  That, and I must admit I'm a little daunted about including all the details of Hogwarts.  It's so rich in magic and mystery, that it takes on a part as an additional character, and I'm not sure if I'm, well, ready to commit that much time to it yet…  At least as much time as it deserves.  

Ratgirl:  blushes happily  Thank you *very much*!

Japangirlcarley24:  Ask and ye shall receive.  I'm really glad you liked it.  More to come…


	21. It Begins

Author's Note: For those of you who wished for the plot to get rolling… Here you go! 

For those of you I email to let you know when I update, I will have to send that out this evening, as I'm uploading this chapter away from my normal desktop (I just couldn't wait! g).

As always, thank you **so** **much** for reviewing. It's what I live for!

****

Chapter 21

It's a beautiful evening. Thunderstorm clouds are swirling about, nearly greenish underneath. Brief flashes of lightening illuminate the clouds above me and my return to Hogwarts. I can't help but feel cheerful as the storm front bellows through, kicking up dust and blowing sheets of rain nearly sideways haphazardly. A bolt strikes not further away than the length of the Quidditch field. The rumble of thunder is close enough for me to feel the reverberation against my chest bone. Glorious. 

I hope for some type of casualty before the night is through. I'm not particular, but of course my preference would be some dumb animal in the Forbidden Forest. After all, class is not in session. In fact, first thing in the morning I'll scour the forest looking for just that. Ingredients are thousands of times more powerful when touched by the elements. Felled trees and other shrubs struck by lightening make for some of the most powerful charms created. The only thing more powerful than lightening is the life essence of blood, and when you have these things combined… My palms get sweaty and itchy, and my skin tingles with anticipation. _Who needs Christmas? This is ***so*** much better._

Nearly a decade ago, I knew a Hufflepuff who'd gotten struck and lived. Damn fool thought it was a good idea to take his broom for a spin in a storm because it was so much *cooler* to practice Quidditch in. Ah well. The Sorting Hat hadn't put him in Ravenclaw for a reason. In the end, I gave him excellent marks and little difficulties in my class. He'd been a more than willing donor, and a never-ending supply at that, but alas… he's gone on to some obscure place overseas, and in truth his debt to me was paid long ago.

Sighing nostalgically, I realize I'm nearly to Hogwarts already, yet I barely remember the journey. A bit disorienting. I never used to lose track of my surroundings like this. I blame Albus. The man's kept me in a perpetual state of distraction since beginning my teaching career here. Teaching career. I snort at my own humor. My trunk still floats obediently behind me, and my rain repelling charm is working nicely as it appears completely dry, but it's certainly flying lower than normal, I notice out of the corner of my eye. Frowning, I realize the damn thing is making sure I'm higher up than it is. 

"You are entirely replaceable," I scowl at my impertinent trunk. It has limited sentience, and most times I never notice, but I've suddenly become painfully aware that it's volunteered *me* as a lightening rod. Picking up my pace, I can hear the odd crackling sound of electricity from another strike far too close for comfort. There is no hesitation as the thunder claps around me now, the sharp retort echoing over the lake, and my heart begins to beat wildly. For a brief moment, I wonder how capable Pomfrey would be at reviving me. 

__

If I stay out here and *did* get struck but survived… Hmmm_._ I'm nearly at the Hogwarts front entrance, and for a moment I hesitate. _Should I?_.... Tempting… _Naaah_, I decide as another bolt strikes a tree I'd been under just minutes before. I'm not *_that_* confident in Pomfrey's abilities, and damn Potter anyway… 

The castle is dark and still, the only sound audible is the cloudburst that I've missed by seconds. As I hurry to my chambers and the decadent peace which is my potions laboratory, I realize that suddenly I feel a presence. Frowning, I turn quickly behind me, wand at the ready... but there's nothing. Perhaps it's Peeves, but I doubt it. The ghosts *feel* differently, oddly enough. I'm sensitive to such things, and have even learned that sometimes life… or the lack thereof… has signatures. I've lived a long life not just on luck, but also relying on my instincts. And right now my instincts are screaming that something's not right. Something *living* is nearby, and doesn't belong.

"Lumos," I say, and the gray hallway I'm traveling is abruptly glaringly bright, it's tapestries reanimating in its cheerful light. _Urrgh_. An orange streak tears across the hallway in front of me, its claws skittering against the stone floor gratingly, chasing a grayish blur, oblivious of the suit of arms that leaps out of its way. I stare after the retreating twin streaks in surprise. I swear the orange blur looks somewhat like a cat, but I'm only aware of one cat (_sort of_) in this castle; Mrs. Norris, and she most definitely isn't orange. 

__

Ah. Home at last. Speaking my password softly, I reassure myself by sensing that all my wards remain intact around my private sanctuary. Sighing contentedly I direct my trunk to its accustomed place, not bothering to illuminate my chambers. In truth, I know every centimeter of this place, every nook and cranny. I could put books away in the dark if I so chose. 

"Severus," Albus' voice calls from the darkness. I start so dramatically that my trunk hits the ceiling before settling in its final resting place. I ignore its slight whimper. _Whiner_. I light the torches in my room, still keeping the lighting dim. Something's wrong. His voice is fatigued and sad, and he's been sitting in my chambers, clearly waiting for me, in the dark. 

"Yes, Albus?" I ask. My mouth has gone dry.

"I have something to ask of you. You are certainly under no obligations," he says. My heart begins to beat rapidly, thumping in my chest like a scared rabbit's. 

"What is it, Albus? What's happened?" I ask, but somehow I already know. 

"It's beginning," he replies, and as I clearly see his face for the first time, I note how red his eyes are, and my cheerfulness plummets. Merlin. He looks like he's been crying.

*******************************************************************

Harry sat nestled in the corner of the living room in a chair. Sirius had wrapped him up in blankets, so that only his face and perpetually untidy black hair peeked out. He had his feet tucked underneath him, and only the faint quiver of the blanket fold where he clutched it to his chest gave away his present physical state. Otherwise, his eyes were brighter and more lively than Remus had seen him in weeks, peering from behind his glasses bemusedly at the family scene unfolding before him. 

"…enough! You're going to have to return ***all*** of Harry's things to Percy's old room this instant. This is unacceptable," Molly Weasley scolded Ron roundly. Remus skirted around the two combatants in the middle of the living room with his cup of tea and sat beside Harry on the ledge of the fireplace. Remus was finally feeling nearly recovered from the last full moon. It had been particularly hard on him, and he relished how his own teacup no longer chattered in its saucer. Sighing contentedly, Remus watched in good humor the scene that Harry evidently also found funny. Tiny dimples kept appearing and disappearing at the corner of Harry's mouth as he struggled to keep from grinning.

"…but…" Ron tried to interject. And failed. 

"No 'buts' about it. You lot are all to put things back before lunch. I can't believe you, Ron. He's your brother!" Molly said in exasperation. She'd gathered her hair up into a loose bun that Remus realized reminded him very much of his grandmother; old fashioned and soft. Her red hair was breaking loose of it's confines and floating about her head crazily like feathers. All in all, she looked awfully flustered for so early in the morning. Of course, with five children still at home, Remus thought it remarkable that Molly _ever_ looked composed at all.

"Don't remind me," Ron muttered, and Remus saw Harry's eyes widen. Remus had to silently agree at that sentiment. _Bad idea, Ron_. Molly's head whipped to glare at him, her hair still floating… much like ancient legends of Medusa. Remus sipped at his tea before his imagination got *too* carried away. 

"Don't be petty, and ***don't*** do this again. Oh, and tell Hermione *she* doesn't have to help you, as I heard her trying to discourage you earlier," Molly said. Ron scowled, his face bright red as he stomped towards the stairs. Remus watched as Ron glanced towards Harry, who looked at his friend in exasperation. It appeared Harry was just fine with Percy's room. Ron's eyes narrowed. Clearly he disagreed with Harry. Remus smiled faintly into his cup at the exchange, and was heartened by how protective of Harry Ron was. When the dualists had returned to their respective corners, or floors as the case might be, Remus turned back to Harry.

"How are you feeling?" Remus asked him. Harry smiled and rolled his eyes. 

"Oh, you know. Like I have a permanent Jelly-Legs curse," he replied with an ironic look. 

"How were the stairs?" Remus asked. He discovered that _how_ Harry managed the staircase was a good gauge for how functional his limbs were.

"Sirius helped me quite a bit," Harry said, his lip twisting a little to one side. He clearly didn't like having to be helped. Remus wondered how much of that was because of his childhood. How much could be attributed to his forced sense of independence, and how much was just plain pride?

"Why isn't he down here? " Remus asked. Harry's eyes lit up. He was clearly pleased with himself. "What?" Remus asked, curious. 

"I made him a deal. I promised to eat five small meals today, as long as he got another couple of hours sleep and a shower," Harry explained. 

"Got stubborn, did you? What prompted that?" Remus asked with a sly smile, pleased at the bargain Sirius had struck. Harry was still wasting away, and his appetite, although an improvement over when he first arrived at the Burrow, was still far too light for a growing fifteen year old boy. And Remus didn't even want to imagine how much caffeine Sirius had drunk, forcing himself to stay up with Harry. 

"It's not easy to talk to a guy who shows his tonsils more than his eyes," Harry replied, and Remus raised an eyebrow in surprise. _That's a dry statement_. _Perhaps he's been spending too much time around Severus_. 

"Good morning, Harry," Arthur Weasley said as he came out of the kitchen where Molly was now bustling about and settled on the couch with his own cup of tea and a pastry. "You're looking better," he remarked, and Remus watched Arthur look at Harry speculatively, his eyes thoughtful as they took in the ready smile and trembling hands. A brief frown flitted across his face before disappearing back into a pleasant expression. _Subtle_, Remus realized. 

Arthur was a natural politician… without the dishonest tendencies. He was also Remus' personal nomination for Muggle sainthood, based on his patience with both his family (_especially the twins_) and his career, or lack thereof, at the Ministry. Because of his sympathies for Muggles, Arthur knew he'd never advance far, yet still he remained dedicated to breaching the gap and prejudice between the magical and non-magical, and trying to put an end to intolerance and discrimination based upon wizarding bloodlines. 

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," Harry replied. There was a pregnant pause as it appeared Arthur wanted to chit chat with Harry, but didn't quite know what to say. Harry must have sensed it.

"How's work?" he asked Arthur politely, who nearly spit tea all over his robes. Molly poked her head out of the kitchen door. Remus felt conflicted about whether to smile at Arthur's response or be horrified by it. It certainly wasn't a good sign.

"Arthur?" she asked, looking at him in concern. Remus raised an eyebrow, and glanced quickly at Harry. Harry's expression must have mirrored his own. Harry gestured with his eyes at Arthur. Remus nodded. _No, that did ***not*** bode well_. Harry read that right.

"Nothing, dear. Just went down the wrong pipe," Arthur said between coughs. "Work's fine, Harry. A bit more… intense than usual, but otherwise…" he said, and let his voice drift off as he frowned. His eyes shifted to Harry, and Remus knew suddenly why he was so reluctant to talk. _The 'disappearances' that Harry's dreamt about so often. That's what was happening at the Ministry_. Harry seemed to realize it as well, for he sighed and absently bit the inside of his cheek. 

"Will they be holding a World Cup this year?" Harry asked, changing the subject to Arthur's evident relief. Remus watched, amazed at how sensitive to other's moods Harry was. His stomach clenched when he realized Harry had probably developed it as a defense mechanism at the Dursleys. _But Lily's always been amazingly intuitive as well_… Remus allowed himself to hope that not all of Harry's sensitivity had been forced on him by a painful childhood.

"They're still in negotiations as to its location," Arthur replied, annoyance evident in his voice. Remus felt his curiosity pique. 

"Isn't that leaving it a little late?" Remus asked after taking another sip of tea, surprised. "Shouldn't something like this have been planned months, if not years in advance?" Arthur nodded and sighed. 

"Gringott's Field backed out, saying they wouldn't be able to properly insure the event, so we're desperately interviewing several possibilities," Arthur replied. Harry looked thoughtful for a moment, then rubbed absently at his scar. Remus and Arthur both froze, waiting. After a few seconds, Harry sighed and closed his eyes for a moment wearily before tucking his hand back underneath the blanket. He didn't notice our concerned expressions, or even the brief look Arthur and I shared. Harry still felt pain in his scar. That was evident.

"Harry?" Remus asked gently. Harry nodded and opened his eyes again, smiling reassuringly at him. 

"I'm okay, Remus. Sorry. You were saying?" Harry turned back to Arthur. Molly came out with a tray full of pastries and a glass of pumpkin juice with a straw, which she sat on the table beside Harry's chair. Arthur looked delighted for the reprieve, setting his empty tea cup down and standing up. _So much for chit chat_, Remus thought wryly. 

"Well, I must be getting ready," he announced to the room at large. Molly looked at Arthur with a puzzled expression as he headed upstairs, then turned back to propping a plate on the arm of the chair and firmly setting Harry's juice in his hand. 

Remus looked up as Hermione came downstairs, shaking her head with a slight smile of exasperation. She was already dressed as if for school in a blouse, pleated skirt and knee highs, and carried several books under her arm. _She takes the image of school 'brain' seriously_, Remus thought with an amused smile. As she rounded the corner after the bottom step she sighed dramatically at Harry.

"Well, at least he doesn't do things halfway," Hermione said as she dropped onto the couch where Arthur had previously been in a very teenage gesture. Remus had yet to figure out the mysterious adolescent tendency to be so hard on furniture in general. The only one worse at it was Sirius, and Remus clamped down on that train of thought before he snickered into his cup. 

"How so?" Harry asked. 

"He even moved the posters and changed the wall colors," Hermione said. Harry appeared to nearly gag on his juice, blowing loud bubbles into the glass through the straw as he choked. Little bits of pumpkin juice now spattered his glasses, forcing him to squint in annoyance. As if on cue, muffled shouts from upstairs indicated there was some disagreement as to '_where_' to put Harry's furniture. "I suspect you're room is about to be rearranged," Hermione observed calmly. Harry rolled his eyes. 

"Please tell me the orange color isn't permanent," Harry said in mock terror. Remus laughed softly. He absolutely had to agree with that sentiment. Few colors grated on his nerves worse than that bright shade of… fluorescent mandarin. Remus realized that it would be a while before Harry could clean his glasses, considering it took all his efforts not to drop his drink, so Remus lifted his wand and discretely whispered a cleaning spell. Harry smiled at Remus gratefully. 

Hermione snickered at Harry's comment, then eyed his plate of pastries speculatively. "That looks like a fine idea. I'll be right back," she said with a grin, quickly standing again and retreating to the kitchen. 

The wards at the Burrow never went off, Remus later learned. The explosion that rocked the house was the front door being blasted in. They stormed through the doorway with wands ready. The Ministry Aurors had come. Remus had dropped his cup and had his wand ready before the first Auror cleared the door.

"What was that?" Molly came running out of the kitchen, with Hermione at her side. Hermione also had her wand drawn, '_good girl_', and Remus heard her intake of breath in recognition of the Burrow's newest arrivals. Her eyes darted from Remus to the Aurors. 

"Ministry business," the first Auror through the door said, a tall man with cold gray eyes and a slight nervous tick. His lips seemed curled into an almost permanent sneer. Remus recognized the distant, judging look the man wore. This Auror had no doubt that _all_ the wizards he apprehended were guilty, and had probably never questioned an order in his life. 

All the Aurors present in the Burrow living room wore the blue robes of the Ministry, and their badges gleamed brightly in the morning light. That was good. That meant that at least the Ministry hadn't felt the need to send the additional firepower of the Unspeakables. Of course, with ten Aurors in the living room and clearly more outside, the Ministry was still blatantly flexing it's muscles. 

Remus had his wand at the ready, but waited, watching all around him nervously. This could get bloody in a hurry, and the last thing he wanted was one of the Weasleys injured. He knew that Arthur would need to be the one to speak to these men. *_He_* would set the tone and dictate what needed to be done next. It was, after all, his family in the crossfire, and Remus still trusted Arthur implicitly, since by all appearances Harry was indeed a part of that family as well. 

"Harry, use it," Remus said under his breath. 

"What are you doing?" Molly asked of the Aurors, stepping into the living room from the kitchen. She had pulled her wand out now as well. As Molly crossed the dining room, Hermione followed closely at her back, face tense and brown eyes dancing over the Aurors, noticing their wands, their badges, their expressions. _Probably memorizing names_, Remus realized.

Remus also realized that she didn't look like a teenager, she looked like someone preparing for war. The grim set of her jaw, and how tightly her hand clenched her wand, clearly prepared to use it, were far too adult. _She fully intends to go against Ministry of Magic Aurors if she has to_. It pained Remus to realize how much more mature Harry's generation were than his own had been… or perhaps it was just his friends. Hermione began to twist the wand in her hand, evidently trying to make her fingers relax. 

"We're here for Harry Potter," the first Auror said. 

"I demand a proof of writ," Arthur called from the top of the stairs. Remus glanced up in relief. He would hopefully disarm the situation at least a little. "Who's in charge here?" Arthur had donned his own Ministry clothes, his spectacles reflecting the bright morning sunlight.

"Harry… Use it," Remus said again to the boy beside him, referring to the portkey he knew Dumbledore given him. He could see Harry struggling to stand out of the corner of his eye. He was panting, and he tottered precariously as he tried to stabilize himself. 

"I am. Barney Worsendale. Here we are, sir. The paper you requested," the man behind the twitchy Auror said. Evidently ***he* **was the one in charge. He pulled out a scroll and strode forward, handing to Arthur, who was quickly descending the stairs. 

"Arthur?" Molly asked, now standing on the other side of Harry, looking at her husband with concern and fear written on her face. Her freckles stood out against her pale skin, but Remus felt his heart burst with pride as she glanced at Harry and gave him an enormous smile. "You'll be just fine," she reassured him firmly. Harry, however, didn't appear consoled. Remus didn't, either.

"Harry…" Remus prompted, glancing at Harry, whose eyes were glued to Arthur and the other Aurors. Was Harry ignoring him or had he just not heard him?

"What's going on?" Ron asked as he appeared from Harry's bedroom, Fred, George and Ginny in tow. Ron stopped dead as he surveyed the scene below him, and his eyes locked on Harry and Hermione. Abruptly, Ron's eyes narrowed and his wand was out in a flash as well. Remus felt a another surge of pride at his brave former students. 

"Mum?" Ginny asked, eyes wide as she looked around. Fred and George spun on their heel and went to their rooms. _To get their wands, no doubt_, Remus realized. 

"It's okay, honey. Just stay in your room," Molly instructed Ginny. Ginny nodded, and backed up towards her room, not turning her back on the scene below.

"Is everyone okay? What was…?" Sirius' voice called from upstairs, his hair hanging flat against his skull, still damp from his earlier shower. Oh Merlin. He sounded sleepy and disoriented, his clothing slightly rumpled from the nap. Remus felt his world narrow into that one moment, each second more painfully slow than the last. _This _was what he'd been afraid of, and had tried to prepare for. He *_had_* to get Sirius out *_now_*.

"Arthur!" Remus cried. Faster than Remus' eyes could follow, Arthur's hand slipped up his sleeve. It appeared with a wand, which he proceeded to throw upstairs.

"Stop!" the Auror nearest to Arthur barked, but it was already too late.

"Padfoot!" Arthur yelled, and Remus watched as Sirius automatically strode forward to catch the wand, still out of view of the Aurors but in clear view of the rest of the family. Sirius' face was intent on the wand, but his eyes slipped from the scene below to watching the wand fly towards him with practiced ease. It was the fluidity of motion and his clear ability to concentrate on multiple things at once that reminded Remus painfully that Sirius had once been an Auror himself, and a damn fine one. He caught the wand easily in his fist, and shot a smile of gratitude at Arthur as he jutted his jaw in preparation for battle. His eyes widened in shock as the portkey whisked him away to safety with a 'pop'. Remus sighed with relief even as he desperately wanted to vomit. The grayish pallor of Arthur's face indicated that he felt the same way Remus now did. He'd just betrayed his best friend. But Sirius was safe. _That's what matters_. 

"Harry, what are you doing? Use the portkey!" Remus said more firmly, and felt his breath leave his body is if someone had just physically gut punched him. Harry shook his head 'no', his face ghostly white. 

"Dad, what's going on?" Ron said as he descended the stairs, clearly rattled at Sirius' disappearance, his eyes still trained on the Aurors. 

"Who was that?! What did you just do?!" Barney demanded, and the rest of the Aurors began to fill into the room, wands pointed. The unexpected made them profoundly nervous. _Nearly twenty Aurors for one teenage boy. How brave_, Remus thought angrily. He took a deep breath to calm himself as he felt the wolf stir protectively within him. The Aurors looked ready to curse at any moment. Harry had to leave now.

"No one. Nothing. He's shy," Ron said automatically, his own wand trained on the Aurors below. He slowly walked down the stairs, his motions careful not to startle anyone.

"What are the charges?" Arthur demanded of the Auror, Barney. 

"He's wanted for questioning in the death of Cedric Diggory and a string of wizarding disappearances," Barney Worsendale replied. He was a smaller man, with white hair shaved close to his skull. He was barrel chested, but the bulk around his middle didn't look like fat. He was clearly angry that someone had fled, and that he didn't know who. 

"Then an adult will accompany him, or he'll be questioned here," Molly said firmly. Arthur looked at her in surprise, then a brief smile flashed across his lips before settling once more into a grim line. Why hadn't Harry used the portkey yet? This situation was obviously about to get much worse.

"Sorry, but the Minister says he's to come alone," the twitchy Auror replied, obviously not sorry at all. 

"What are you doing, Harry? Get ***out*** of here," Remus said, softly so that only Molly, Hermione and Harry heard him. 

"I'm not going to use it," Harry replied. His hands were trembling, and Remus realized he wouldn't be able to stay on his feet much longer. Harry appeared frightened, but mostly… determined. 

"What are you talking about? If you've got a portkey, use it!" Hermione hissed angrily to Harry. Remus didn't think the Aurors could hear their conversation, but the fact that they were having one was making them nervous.

"When they question me, they'll hear about Voldemort's return… and that Peter Pettigrew is still alive," Harry said firmly, and Remus felt his heart sink. _Oh Merlin. Oh no. What is Harry thinking!?_

"Oh, Harry…" Hermione said softly as tears welled up in her eyes. She looked at Remus imploringly. _Exactly_, Remus thought. 

"Fudge is out of control. There's a very real chance they'll use Veritaserum on you," Remus said, trying to instill the ramifications of that into Harry. "Do you *know* what that could do to you?"

"No! He's too young! That could kill him!" Molly said, her eyes wide in horror as she looked at Remus, then glanced towards Arthur, who was still talking firmly to Barney. 

"Tell Sirius I love him. Tell him this is my bright idea, and that I ***want*** to do this. If I can make others at the Ministry believe me, that Voldemort has returned, maybe we can turn this around. And if I can prove Sirius' innocence…" Harry said, his jaw set with determination. _Oh Gods… So *that* is what this was about. Oh no… Not again_…

"Harry, there are other ways," Hermione said. Remus nearly applauded. _Yes! Let him listen to reason!_ he thought. _Please, let him listen._ Harry shook his head. 

"I don't have much longer, and I'm the only witness. This way it's on record," Harry replied. His straightforward assessment of his health stunned Hermione. Her jaw snapped shut with a click.

"Harry, you've seen Ministry justice firsthand. How can you willingly place yourself in their hands when you've seen what they did to Sirius? Surely you're not that naïve!" Remus said, trying to pound a little sense into Harry.

"If I run, I've lost that much more credibility. Not that I had much to begin with," Harry said with a bitter snort. Remus cringed. Harry appeared prepared to do this, in spite of all he'd seen done against Sirius. 

"He's not going alone," Molly said to both Arthur and Barney, her voice determined as she stepped closer to Remus. 

"Do you have the portkey with you?" Remus asked him. Because if Harry did, Remus was fully prepared to grab it, and Harry with him. He was going to get him out of here one way or the other.

"No. I left it upstairs," Harry said. Remus knew they were lost as Harry said it. He wanted to bang his head against the fireplace in frustration. _The fireplace…_

Remus grabbed Harry around the waist simultaneously as he reached above the mantle and threw floo powder into the fire. "Diagon Alley," Remus cried, carrying Harry as he fled through the fireplace. His surroundings blurred, and Remus decided they could disappear quickly into Muggle London before the Aurors got a chance to follow. Harry struggled against Remus' grip, which only made him tighten it more. _You're not going anywhere_, Remus thought firmly. _I'm not losing you. I'm not losing Sirius._

As he stumbled out of the fireplace, voices shouted all around Remus as he automatically hit the ground, rolling with Harry still held close. _Are they in Diagon Alley, too? How could they possibly have known? _ Remus wondered, then realized with a sinking heart just where he was. He was still at the Burrow. The Ministry had disabled the Weasleys from the Floo Network. Remus closed his eyes bitterly. He wanted to force Harry to tell him where the portkey was. Maybe he could have the twins look for it, if he shouted its' description. Harry stared back, his eyes solemn and apologetic. Remus wanted to wring his neck in frustration. _He has no idea…_

Of all the possible scenarios Remus had tried to prepare for… this had not been it. Never in a million years had Remus thought Harry would feel the need to try to tell the truth about Sirius and Voldemort, although in retrospect he was disgusted at his own shortsightedness. _It is *just* like Harry to feel he has to do this_. _You have to find a way to prove your worth, without realizing how precious you already are to those around you_," Remus thought as he looked his best friend's son. _Don't you realize what this will do to Sirius?_ Remus wanted to scream. But in this rapidly deteriorating situation, he realized that Harry already shouldered enough guilt of his own.

"Remus... You know why I'm doing this," Harry said firmly. They both had landed behind and slightly underneath the coffee table, nearly nose to nose. Remus could still smell the faint scent of pumpkin juice on his breath, and the reddness of his eyes that Severus had been concerned about was much more pronounced. Remus closed his eyes for a moment and knew tears had begun to fall. _No. He's not going_.

"This is an unacceptable breach of protocol…" Arthur began to say as the group of Aurors, as if on an unspoken cue, aimed at various people in the room and began to curse. 

"Stupify!" was uttered by a multitude of voices, as well as a variety of other hexes as Ron and Hermione ducked out of the way. Remus couldn't see where Arthur was now, but knew it had gone too far beyond talk anyway. Molly fell to the ground unconscious and Remus suppressed a howl of rage as Harry stilled beside him, also hit by a curse, his eyes closed as if asleep. There were just too many to duck or dodge. Remus began shouting counter curses in an aggressive barrage designed to distract his attackers. Hermione and Ron also began to fight back. Soon most of the Aurors in the room where using various pieces of upended furniture as a shield.

"Ron, take out as many as you can. Harry's got a portkey somewhere. If we can buy some time…" Hermione instructed as she inched closer to Ron's side. He'd leapt over the side of the staircase and was currently crouching behind an overturned end table. Remus nodded. _It's as good a plan as any. _

The twins and Ginny had entered the melee, shouting curses as well, but as some Aurors fell, more swelled their ranks from outside. Soon they had most of the attackers either pinned or unconscious. Ron shouted up to Ginny to look in Harry's room for anything which struck her as 'odd', explaining it was a portkey, and instructed Fred and George to continue to try to keep the Aurors at bay. Unfortunately, the Aurors heard Ron's instructions, and this goaded them into action.

The Ministry had not prepared barriers against portkeys, as evidenced by Sirius' escape. Just Disappartion and using the Floo Network. Barney proved remarkably agile as he sprinted across the room to Harry's side under cover of a slew of fresh spells from his fellow Aurors and scooped Harry up in his arms. Remus reached out to try to grab Harry to his chest, to try to physically shield him with his body if necessary, but Barney kicked savagely at Remus, catching him in the ribs. The impact lifted him in the air a few feet and he could *hear* bone crack, as his head to hit the coffee table, scattering pastries and spilling tea everywhere. Barney looked at Remus, his eyes squinted in anger, and reached into his pocket. _No. _He and Harry disappeared with a 'pop'. 

As soon as Harry was gone, the others departed. Arthur ran to Molly, holding her to his chest as tears coursed down his cheeks. She was still unconscious. 

"I couldn't protect him. I couldn't protect him. I'm so sorry. I couldn't protect him…," he kept repeating. Remus stood up shakily, wincing against the sharp pain that lanced his chest with each breath, looking at his wand in disgust. The curses he'd unleashed… He hadn't dueled that fiercely in years, and it hadn't been good enough. _Not nearly good enough_.

He looked around him at the fallen Weasleys. Ron was waiting for a particularly nasty itching curse to wear off, his face distraught as he viciously scratched at his legs, drawing blood, even as he stared at the spot where seconds ago Harry had been. Fred and George both appeared to have been hit by another stupify. Ginny sat stunned with George's head in her lap. George had partially fallen down the stairs when he'd been hit, and now lay at an odd angle, his leg dangling in a way legs weren't meant to go, Fred slumped at his side.

Hermione was curled up in a ball, crying into her knees, her argyle socks a stark reminder to Remus that these were ***children*** that the Ministry had just targeted. _Children. _ Remus stood and slowly made his way to the door. He looked outside. No one was there. _Of course. They have what they came for. _He looked at his wand again, and repressed the urge to throw his wand in frustration. 

__

Sirius… Remus' thoughts kept spiraling in confusion. _I have to get to Sirius_. They had to find Pettigrew. _It's the only way to prove Harry's story_. For he ***knew*** Harry would be given Veritaserum. He could hear it in the Aurors' voices. _They know what Fudge intends to do… And they don't care that it's a horribly sick, fifteen year old abused orphan boy they intend to do it to. _

__

Get Sirius. Find Peter. Save Harry. Those were all Remus seemed able to concentrate on. In truth, all he wanted to do was let loose a scream of anguish from the bottom of his soul. _Not Harry. Not like this. _He turned to face the Weasleys in the room. 

"Thank you, Arthur. I know you did all you could. I'll send Madam Pomfrey immediately," Remus said. _It's happening again_. All the joy that came into his life was being ripped away. Arthur nodded distractedly, gently setting Molly back down as he went from child to child, checking on their injuries and determining who needed his help first. 

Remus began to walk just beyond the Burrow wards so that he too could Apparate. One image kept swirling in his mind. It was of the handkerchief peeking out of Harry's pajamas as Barney had picked him up. Remus ***knew*** that that must have been the portkey, and that Harry had had it all along. _If I'd only known… Of course he'd still have it near. Just in case. _Remus walked slowly, trying to jostle his ribs as little as possible, feeling old and lost. And now he would have to face Sirius.

********************************************************************

"NO!" Sirius screamed as he hurled himself against the walls of the Shrieking Shack. _I fell for it. I can't believe I actually fell for it. _He'd ***_never_*** have caught it if it had been _anything _but a wand. But he'd thought… _I thought Arthur had a spare wand_. He'd caught the damn thing, and now he was here and Harry wasn't. _*Why* did I think that? Who has a spare wand up their sleeve?! _His throat felt raw from his screams, but Sirius couldn't seem to stop. The grief he felt… He ***knew*** what would happen next. 

__

Harry is in the system. He's not here, so they must have captured him. Once he was in the system, there was no going back. It was as inevitable as an avalanche, as devastating as a tidal wave. _Slow and steady wins the race_, Sirius thought wildly, and nearly laughed maniacally. _The Ministry lives by that motto_. He knew he continued to cry out, but as he ran out of energy to try to escape all the magically sealed doors, he slid to the ground, broken, until only whimpers remained. His shoulders and ribs hurt from where he'd thrown himself against the door, but he didn't care. He wished he hurt worse, because inside he felt like he was dying, like the world had come to a screeching end and _Voldemort won._

__

No. No. No. Not Harry. They can't do this to Harry, Sirius thought over and over. _I've lost him. I slept in, and poked my head out like a fool, and caught the bloody wand… and now they have Harry. I've failed them. I've failed James and Lily. I've failed Harry. I've failed everyone. _

Hands on Sirius' shoulders startled him as his head shot up and he looked into Moony's eyes. _It was ***his*** plan… _He could see the guilt and pain in his friend's eyes and knew.

"How could you?!" Sirius screamed, throwing Remus' hands away from him. He stood up and stepped away from Remus like a drunkard, barely able to keep his footing. 

"Harry had a portkey, too, Sirius. He had a portkey and was supposed to use it. I was supposed to take care of you, but Harry was supposed to be here, too!" Remus said, his face imploring for understanding. Sirius fell to his knees. 

"Sirius, I swear to Merlin Harry was supposed to be here too. He was ***never*** supposed to go to the Ministry," Remus begged, falling to his knees himself. He sat before Sirius, his breath coming in odd whistles, his eyes hollow looking. Sirius' thoughts tightened in on themselves until nothing else remained. _Too much loss. It's too much. _The waves of loss and pain that Sirius had felt for years at the hand of the Dementors washed over him as once again he felt himself falling into despair. _I've lost Harry, and now ***they*** have him. Harry won't survive more than a couple of weeks at the most. _Sirius clearly remembered Remus' previous descriptions of Harry's response to Dementors. _I've failed_. "Sirius!"

"Sirius!" _I've lost Harry, and now they'll give him Veritaserum. Why did he go? Why wouldn't Harry use the portkey? ***Of course.***_ "Sirius!" _Harry hopes to reveal the truth about Voldemort and Pettigrew. He wants to prove *my* innocence. My fault. This is my fault again. I failed to protect Harry from Voldemort during the Triwizard Tournament, and now Voldemort is back. I should have never allowed Harry to stay at the Burrow, where the Ministry *knew* where he was._

"SIRIUS!" Remus screamed, and the sting of the slap snapped Sirius back to the present, where he most definitely didn't want to be. 

"I can't do it. I can't bear it if Harry dies…" Sirius said, still unable to completely focus on his friend's face. Remus cupped his hand underneath Sirius' chin and forced him to look up. Dumbledore stood behind him, Sirius realized in surprise. When had he arrived? Dumbledore's eyes were shadowed and grave. He handed Remus a cup of something. 

"Give it to him. It'll help. We've got some time…" Dumbledore said, his voice soothing, but Sirius barely registered the words. He didn't care. _It's over_. 

"Here," Remus said, and pressed the cup to Sirius' lips. "Come on. We still have time…" Remus muttered reassuringly, but Sirius knew better. 

"We can still save him," Remus murmured, tipping the cup the potion, for it must be potion, down Sirius' chin. But Sirius knew Remus was trying to convince himself as much as Sirius.

He'd failed. Twelve years of reliving his failures certainly made him qualified to identify when he'd done it again. Sirius drank automatically from the preferred cup, quickly regretting it as he did so. Peace washed over him and sleep began to overwhelm his senses as he slid into his friend's waiting arms. Sirius didn't want to sleep. _I want to die_. 

TBC….

Colleen: There's a part in the movie _As Good As It Gets _where Helen Hunt tells Jack Nicholson that **that** is the best compliment she's ever received. Well… Ditto! I cannot tell you how much it means to hear people actually **read** my fic and tell me they think I've got a future as a writer. I absolutely **promise** to let you know what my pen name will be, and I just want to say again how much your compliment meant. I've been grinning like a fool for days. Thank you again.

Sou: My life is **so** much more complete now that I post in HTML. Thank you so much for the terrific tip. And ahem yes, I'm rather embarrassed to admit I never thought to even try it before. blushes 

Tanya: Yes, now that I can **upload** properly, my elipses finally show. Believe me, I've been using them all along mumble mumble mumble… darn obvious I should have saved stuff as html mumble mumble mumble. I think your analogy of Snape and Harry's relationship is very significant. I agree. Snape is someone who doesn't necessarily **care** about spared feelings or niceties. When he asks a question, because he's not **vested** in the answer, it demands a candor that with anyone else Harry wouldn't use (except perhaps Dumbledore). You'll see more soon about what **else** they have in common g. I agree. Ron and Hermione are much more significant to Harry than just moral support. I'm glad they're empowered now, too. Hmmm. No. Not yet. They don't. Me too! Actually, she returns the 17th, and I already have some chapters in the queue for her to proof. 8-) Thanks for the great review!

Lothey: Hmmm. Still haven't decided. I don't think so at this point, although it does have merits. As you can see, the plot's really beginning to roll now. I can't say any more… g

WeasleyTwinsLover1112, Phoenix, FirePixie28, AllAboutMe, Sherylyn, RoseFairy, Von (you'll see…), witchchild, Dakr Luna Anger, darkphoenix (as in the X-Men? g), lothey, -_-, sk8reagle, Centra-gal86 (bwah hah hah hah), Tempest Princess, kapies (Nobody ever expects the Spanish Inquisition g), Adzi, Kate the Great, ratgirl (more Harry coming soon… lots of him), Moonywolf, Hyper Princess, Doom Song, Rozebunny (thanks for putting me on your Favorites list!), Endriago Luna, cierra (hmmm… You'll see): Thanks to everyone who's reviewed!!! I hugely appreciate all the kind words and hope you continue to enjoy the story! Much more to happen soon!!! 8-)

Starlette Whisper: Supreme genius? giggle Okay. That's a cool compliment. Who knew Percy would play such a big part in my story? Certainly not me. He is a bit pushy, though, isn't he? 8-)

Chaucer: Yep, it's from the master of horror himself. Poor Andy. What a terrific character. Thank you blushes. So consider your ego boosted. You are so right! Thanks for the kind review, and the kind compliment! 

Kranberries: I agree that a little humor is important, but keep in mind this bad boy fic of mine is drama/angst, so… Hang in there. I'll sprinkle where I can!!!

Potter-Pikachu: Wow. Thank you so much for the kind review! I must say I think it's the best thing I ever did, deciding to post something for others to read. I had no idea how much the positive feedback would help boost my writing confidence. Thanks again.

SpiderGirl05: Just save your word doc as .html and upload. All the fancy stuff stays. Thanks again Sou! Thanks for reviewing.

amysalinsky2000: I agree that it's cruel to question Harry at this point. Of course, I thought it was awful what Rita Skeeter did to him in the Daily Prophet as well, and the kind of risks they took with the Triwizard Tournament and the students. And don't even get me started with how they discriminate against werewolves and what they did to poor Sirius! There may be magic in the HP world, but it's by no means a perfect place by **any** stretch of the imagination.

Kaydee: Good point. True. It would depend on a person's **definition** of bad. Bad for them could be when mum and dad painted their room pink. But as long as it's traumatizing for **them**, that's all that matters. Percy has come to play an important part in my story, and it's far more of a part than I ever anticipated. I just realized that his character, by doing bad things but all the while thinking he's doing the **right** thing, will have quite a day of reckoning once he realizes how wrong he is. It makes him more of a growth character, which I like and have found I want to show. It also deeply affects the Weasley family dynamic, which I hope I'll be able to convey. The sense of family the Weasleys have is an imporant part of the HP world, and essential for Harry. I absolutely agree that with Snape it's all about dignity… and control. Both are an integral part of his character, and why he relishes his barb wit as much as he does. With it, he is in complete control of people's responses to him. I've used a phrase for many years, thought, that I absolutely adore, and certainly sums up things nicely (don't know where it came from: The road to Hell is paved with good intentions). Thanks again for your favorite quotes. It's nice to read. 8-) Lots more to come!


	22. Veritaserum

Disclaimer:  Sigh  HP: Still not mine.

**Chapter 22**

Percy sat on the edge of the cot, watching as Harry fitfully slept.  The Aurors had brought him in nearly two hours ago, and although they claimed he'd been hit by the stunning spell only once, Percy was beginning to suspect it had been more than that.  

As the Aurors had debriefed Minister Fudge in his office, Percy had eavesdropped with a sinking heart.  Things had not gone well.  His mother and siblings had been stunned, possibly injured in the raid.  Percy sat, feeling his stomach burn and clench with stress and ran a weary hand through his red hair.  This was not what was supposed to have happened.  They were just supposed to take Harry in for *questioning*, not interrogation.  But now he was in a holding cell sitting with Harry, wondering if what he'd done had been right, knowing it had felt right at the time.  

He'd never meant for them to raid the Burrow; just go and bring Harry in for questioning.  Percy looked at the pale and exhausted boy before him and wished he hadn't had to sign the papers… but he had.  There were too many unanswered questions, and as much as he loved his family, Harry was too evasive and well guarded by the rest of the Weasleys for Percy to have a candid conversation.  And people's lives could possibly be on the line.  

Harry stirred, and opened his eyes in confusion.  Percy automatically handed him his glasses, and watched with a sinking heart as Harry struggled to loop the legs of his glasses over his ears despite his trembling hands.  With a start, Percy realized Harry's lips were blue.  

"Percy?" Harry asked with a raspy voice.  Percy nodded his head.  

"Harry, are you cold?" he asked.  Harry nodded and shrugged.  

  
"I'm always cold," Harry replied.  Percy stood from his cot and looked around the holding cell.  He hadn't understood why the Minister had insisted Harry be kept there like a criminal.  After all, it was under the Minister's reassurances that Percy had gone along with this at all.  

"We just need to question the boy, Percy.  That's all.  Dumbledore's got his hand in everything, and honestly I need to trust Harry's answers before I can let him be.  There are too many unanswered issues surrounding Diggory's death… and now you tell me Harry's response to the Daily Prophet article…  " Minister Fudge had said.  Percy sighed as he went to the cell door and knocked.  

"Yes?" The guard asked on the other side.  

"Harry needs some blankets," Percy said, then turned and looked over his shoulder at the sickly boy who was now struggling to sit up.  "How do you feel, Harry?  Do you want anything else?" Percy asked, smiling to try to reassure him.  

"Some water would be nice, thank you," Harry replied politely.  Formally.  Percy frowned as he relayed the message and returned to Harry's bedside.  His black, tousled hair clung to his forehead wetly.

"Are you scared?" Percy asked, intending to try to calm his fears.  Harry seemed remarkably composed, despite his tremors.  The only outward sign of fear that Percy had noted was Harry's jumpiness at every little sound.  His eyes would widen and he would clench his fists.  Otherwise, Harry's face remained relatively impassive.  _It's odd to think a fifteen year old boy can behave like this, Percy thought.  He of all people *__knew* what fifteen year old boys acted like.  He'd had an abundant amount of experience with his brothers,  and of all the adolescent behavior he'd prepared himself for… __this isn't it.  _

"Yes," Harry replied, staring at Percy intently.  Percy flinched under the gaze.  "Why are you here, Percy?" Harry asked frankly.  Percy started.  Oddly, there wasn't really accusation in the question, just curiosity.

"I'm here to try to make you feel more comfortable," Percy replied, surprised.  "Of course I would be here."  

"But you're *why* I'm here, right?" Harry asked, his eyes solemn.  Percy frowned as he looked intently at the boy.  This was an odd conversation indeed.  Harry had certainly pieced together quite a bit already.  

"That's right.  I'm why you're here.  But it's only to ask some questions I know you don't want to answer," Percy said.  "I'm sorry I have to push it, but we *have* to know.  There are strange things afoot, and I've got a feeling you know more about it than you realize.  *And we need to know, too, Harry,*" Percy said, emphasizing his words as he reached out to pat Harry's hand.  Harry didn't move, and his face remained thoughtful.  His hands were like ice.  Percy frowned at the tremors that ran through Harry's body.  

"What *is* wrong with you?  Have they figured that out yet?" Percy asked bluntly.  Harry shrugged, turning his eyes away.  

"They're still working on it," Harry replied, then jumped as the door to the cell opened.  Percy quickly took the blanket and pitcher of water from the guard and nodded gratefully as he closed the door.  

"It's okay, Harry.  See, they even brought blankets.  That's not so bad, is it?" Percy asked as he approached the cot.  Harry didn't look up.

"Then why is there a guard outside my door?  I *am* a prisoner, right?" Harry asked softly.  Percy sighed and sat the pitcher on the floor.  The only furniture in the room was the cot.  There was no nightstand for the water, so Percy was forced to set it at his feet.  

Taking both ends of the blanket in his hands, Percy whipped it over Harry's bed and let it drift onto the cot, reaching over Harry to insure he was covered completely.  It reminded him of his time as Prefect at Hogwarts, and of Harry when he'd first arrived, so lost and timid, yet stubborn and trying to be brave at the same time.  Abruptly, Percy placed a hand against Harry's face.  Harry flinched slightly, but did not pull away.  He was ice cold.  Percy tucked the blanket snugly around the boy.  _Perhaps what you *really* need is to be at St. Mungo's. _

"Sort of," Percy replied to Harry's question, trying to find the right words.  "This is as much for your protection as ours.  The Ministry certainly doesn't want to draw attention to the fact that we've brought you in, and I know *you* would hate for the Daily Prophet to get wind of this," Percy explained, trying to reason with Harry.  Harry looked at Percy thoughtfully.  

"This isn't a waiting room, is it?" Harry asked.  Percy sighed and closed his eyes.  

"No.  It's not," Percy replied.  

"Then what is it?" Harry asked, although his eyes said he already knew the answer.  In truth, he was beginning to give Percy the heebie-jeebies. 

"It's a holding cell," Percy answered reluctantly.  

"For criminals?" Harry asked.  Percy nodded.  

"Am I a criminal?" Harry asked Percy.  

"No, Harry.  You're not a criminal.  But you've got to answer some questions," Percy persisted.  He looked around the room in discomfort.  He wished the Ministry had gone to a little bit of trouble to make the place less… prison like.  Even a small nightstand and a chair would have helped. 

"Do you think I've done something bad, Percy?" Harry asked quietly.  His face held no expectations.  It was as if Harry had simply asked about the weather. 

"No, Harry, I don't," Percy replied.  And in truth, he didn't.  Harry just had a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and his unwelcome celebrity placed him in situations others weren't privy to.  

"Do you believe me when I say that Voldemort's returned?" Harry asked.  Percy flinched at Harry's blatant use of the name.  

"Crikey, Harry, why do you have to say the name?  It's You Know Who!" Percy said in discomfort.  

"You didn't answer the question," Harry replied softly.  Percy froze.  No… he didn't believe that You Know Who had returned.  He had no doubt that Harry had witnessed something horrible when Cedric Diggory was killed… but he didn't believe it was *him*.  _Perhaps some loyal followers, but not *him*._

"I think you *believe* he's returned, Harry.  I'm just not sure if he really did," Percy replied, trying to be honest while still not insulting him.  

Percy leaned over and poured some water into a small glass from the pitcher beside his feet then raised up and handed it to Harry.  Harry tentatively took the glass in both hands and Percy watched as water sloshed over from all sides, dampening the blanket he'd rested over his legs and torso.  Harry tentatively raised the cup to his lips, his eyes squinting in concentration as he struggled to hold his hands still.  Half the water didn't even make it to his mouth, and Percy watched the boy in front of him with mounting horror.  What the bloody hell was wrong with him, and why wasn't he at St. Mungo's?  

"Here, I can help…" Percy offered, reaching out to take hold of the glass.  Harry pushed it into Percy's hands and turned his face away, blushing fiercely.  He dabbed the edge of the blanket against his wet face and chest and sighed.

"No, thank you," Harry replied, leaning away from Percy, refusing to let him help Harry to take a drink.  Percy leaned forward, concerned.  After all, he'd said he was thirsty, and he certainly looked like he needed the water.  Harry struggled to scoot further away from Percy, raising his one hand in a trembling physical manifestation of refusal.  "Please, I'm not all that thirsty anyway," Harry insisted.  Percy hesitated, recognizing the look of shame on Harry's face.  _He's embarrassed.  Percy nodded, and set the glass back at his feet.  _

"Harry…" Percy began.  Harry stopped him with a look.  

"Percy, who do you work for?" Harry asked abruptly.  Percy frowned.  _Is Harry still a bit… wrong from the stunning spells?  _

"The Ministry of Magic of course…" Percy replied.  Harry shook his head.  

"No…  I mean…  Do you know about them?" Harry asked, his eyes searching Percy's intently.  "Are you a part of it?" Harry asked.  

"A part of what?" Percy asked, confused.  

"Do you know what's been happening?" Harry asked again.  Percy nodded.  

"Of course I do.  Wizards and witches have been disappearing at an alarming rate…" Percy began.  Harry shook his head impatiently.  

"Percy…  What would it take for you to believe me when I tell you Voldemort's returned?" Harry asked.  He'd begun to speak more clearly.  Percy wondered if he was beginning to feel a little better.  Harry's eyes seemed unnaturally bright and intense.  

"Please, don't…" Percy began.  Harry interrupted.  

"Yes, yes," Harry nearly rolled his eyes in annoyance at Percy's protest of using the word 'Voldemort'.  "What would it take for you to believe me?" Harry asked.  Percy frowned.  "You didn't believe me at the Burrow.  What more will you learn here that you couldn't there?" Harry asked.  In truth, Percy had just wanted the chance to ask his questions freely, without interruptions and without scrutiny.  

"I just…" Percy began.  Harry shook his head.  

"If I took Veritaserum, would you believe me?" Harry asked.  Percy was shocked.  

"No!  Harry, no one's going to give you Veritaserum.  You're too young, and you're not in good health," Percy said, appalled.  Harry looked at Percy and his eyes seemed very old.  Percy stopped speaking.  _What are you getting at, Harry?_

"Are you sure?" Harry asked.  He certainly didn't sound sure himself.  Percy nodded.  _Excellent.  __Now I can begin to try to allay Harry's fears.  _

"That's why I'm here.  No one's going to give you Veritaserum.  This won't be an interrogation.  I'll be with you the entire time.  I promise," Percy said.  Harry looked at Percy with a haunted expression.  

"You promise?" Harry asked, his voice nearly a whisper.  "And can you keep that promise?"  Percy nodded his head vigorously.  

"That's why I'm here," Percy replied.  Harry looked at him intently.  Voices sounded outside their door, and with the speed of a snitch Harry's hand streaked out, trapping Percy's hand in his own.  Harry's grip was surprisingly strong.  _Crikey__!_

"Percy…  Promise me something," Harry asked, his voice desperate.  Percy nodded, his eyes sliding to the door in distraction.  It seemed the Minister was coming.  

"Okay, Harry.  What?" Percy asked, patting Harry's hand, then working to disentangle himself so he could greet the Minister at the door.  

"Promise me you'll make sure they find out the truth.  Will you do that?  No matter what happens, can you make sure they find out the truth?" Harry asked again, his voice nearly begging.  

"Certainly, Harry.  That's what we're all here for, isn't it?" Percy said, finally disengaging Harry's hand from his own.  He'd left red marks on Percy's forearm.  Percy was getting quite uncomfortable with this exchange.  _What sort of nonsense has the rest of his family pumped in the boy?  Harry was clearly terrified something bad was about to happen.  _

"Remember.  You've promised," Harry said solemnly, but Percy had already turned away to greet the Minister at the door.  

**********************************************************************************

Minister Fudge stepped into the holding cell, his eyes searching for the boy eagerly.  They landed on Percy Weasley first, who'd evidently been sitting on the edge of his cot talking to the boy.  Percy Weasley approached Cornelius, who frowned in disapproval.  In truth, the Weasley boy annoyed him.  He was far too prissy and do-gooder for Cornelius' tastes.  He clearly had an idealized notion of what *right* really was.  _Perhaps he'll learn in time… If he survives the upcoming storm.  _

Percy Weasley's eyes widened at the entourage of people that followed at Cornelius' heels, and his mouth dropped open at the sight of the chair that two Aurors carried with them.  Cornelius sighed.  _As meticulous as the Weasley boy is, he certainly isn't adept at reading between the lines, is he?  Cornelius thought in annoyance.  __Ah well.  That's why *he* is doing what he's doing.  Who else did he think I requested the chair for?  Percy had signed the papers for it._

"Minister Fudge, I thought you said…" Percy began.  Cornelius raised his hand to silence him.  

"Relax, Mr. Weasley.  This is necessary to be able to weed truth from fiction.  I've brought a trusted colleague, Dr. Happensdam from St. Mungo's, who will be here to monitor the administration of Veritaserum and its affects on young Mr. Potter here," Cornelius said, putting on his most reassuring smile for both occupants.  

"Sir, you said…" Percy tried to interrupt again.  Cornelius glared at him.  

"Mr. Weasley, are you questioning my judgment in this matter?" he asked Percy dangerously.  

"No sir, but I am suggesting it's not a decision you…" Percy tried to say.  

"Mr. Weasley, is it?" Dr. Happensdam interrupted.  Percy turned to look at him.  Cornelius took the opportunity to take a close look at the Boy Who Lived.  He currently was watching as the Aurors set up the Interrogation Chair in the center of the room.  

The Interrogation Chair was a bland, innocuous wooden chair with metal bands at the head, neck, wrists and ankles.  Cornelius had once been told it looked similar to the electric chair American muggles use to execute their criminals.  Cornelius wondered if Harry Potter would recognize it as that.  _It seems he does, Cornelius thought in satisfaction.  Fear makes for a powerful motivator__.  The boy's face was nearly chalk white as he watched the proceedings, his eyes darting from the chair to Percy and sneaking glances at Cornelius.  __That's right, Harry.  Now Dumbledore's duplicity will be revealed, Cornelius thought as he watched the boy.  He suppressed a shiver as Harry's eyes appeared to widen in fright.  As if he'd heard Cornelius' thoughts.  __But that can't be, can it?  Cornelius' eyes narrowed as he watched the boy closely.  Several guards placed six simple chairs facing the Interrogation Chair before retreating.  _

"Yes?" Percy replied to the doctor, frowning.  "What exactly are you a doctor of?" Percy asked, his voice edgy.  He was already beginning to get suspicious of the doctor. Cornelius sighed.  _Why must everyone insist on doing things the hard way?_

"It's done, sir," Adams said, putting the finishing touches on the chair.  Cornelius nodded his head at the Auror and smiled gratefully.  

"Thank you.  Shall we begin?" Cornelius asked to the men around him.  

"Actually, my specialty is in Enchanted Animals and Toxins," Dr. Happensdam replied.  Percy's mouth dropped open in shock.  Cornelius sighed, wanting to slap his palm against his forehead.  _So much for that ruse._

"Then how will you be able to…" Percy began, not noticing Cornelius' look at the two Aurors behind him.  With his eyes, he directed them to Percy.  They nodded, and quickly took Percy by the elbow.  

"He'll be just fine, Mr. Weasley.  Perhaps you should just sit tight for now.  It will all turn out right in the end," Cornelius said as Adams pressed Percy against the wall and muttered a binding spell, pinning him there.  Then Aurors then turned to Harry, who'd automatically tried to scoot back further on the cot although he'd long ago run out of room, his eyes wide in surprise at what they'd done to Percy.  

"Don't worry, my boy.  You'll be just fine.  Just tell me what you know…" Cornelius said reassuringly as they placed The Boy Who Lived in the Interrogation Chair.  Of its own accord, the chair grew straps which it quickly wrapped around Harry's arms, legs, neck and head, effectively pinning him in place even as Adams snapped the metal bands shut.  Harry's face was rigid with tension, but still he struggled to maintain some semblance of calm.  The boy was a bit freakish, really.  Cornelius glanced at a man who'd remained in the far corner of the room since he'd arrived, a small table floating behind him.  Cornelius cleared his throat in annoyance.

"It's alright, Lane.  The boy's just frightened, but we're all here for the same reason," Cornelius said reassuringly.  The Quill Recorder hesitantly stepped forward, his eyes darting from Percy to Harry.  He truthfully looked like a child himself, although his reputation was impeccable.  Once his seal of approval was on a scroll, no one questioned its integrity.  _He's perfect for this job.  _

"Sir, if you're going to have a doctor here, why not get a doctor who's…" Percy asked, his face frantic.  Cornelius sighed again, feeling the weight of his position on his shoulders.  _They just refuse to understand… All of them.  _

"Dr. Happensdam is perfectly qualified to monitor this administration," Cornelius replied.  "Lane, please, set up your spells.  Let's get this over with.  Clearly the boy isn't well," he encouraged the timid man.  Lane stepped forward reluctantly, and directed the table to sit beside the Interrogation Chair.  With his wand, he set up the quill and parchment, and began to place the anti-tampering spells that would insure his recordings could not be interfered with.  Cornelius waited until the man appeared done.  He didn't bothering to listen to all the spells that had been placed for recording purposes; the man was a professional after all, but he did seem to carry on for some time, before finally finishing, prepared to begin.  He nodded at Cornelius once.  Lane then turned his eyes to Harry.  Cornelius sighed at the pity he read in Lane's eyes.  _One more to deal with, he could already tell._

"Sir, I would like to lodge a formal protest.  I thought…" Percy interjected yet again.  Harry turned his eyes to Percy, and an entreaty for him to be quiet was clear.  Cornelius smiled, although his patience was running thin.  _The Boy Who Lived has it right.  He could certainly teach the overly confident Mr. Weasley a thing or two._

"You thought wrong, Mr. Weasley.  This is regarding the safety of the wizarding world.  Do you think I wanted him here just to ask questions and judge for myself whether I thought the boy was lying or not?  Please.  He's already proved an adept liar.  No…  There's only one way for me to know whether or not the boy is telling the truth.  Now please don't make me cast a silencing spell on you.  I had hoped you would aid me in questioning him," Cornelius said.  Percy shut his mouth, but a muscle on the side of his jaw twitched animatedly.  "Thank you," Cornelius said and nodded to the doctor.  

"Now, Mr. Potter, this isn't going to taste pleasant…" Dr. Happensdam began.  The Interrogation Chair already knew what to do next.  Straps snaked out from the back of the chair and wound around Harry's lower jaw.  As they constricted, Harry's mouth was pried open.  With a tear dropper, Dr. Happensdam dipped into a vial he'd pulled from his robe pocket.  Squeezing it full, he placed a single drop of the fluid on Harry's tongue.  Harry began to shudder as the Veritaserum took control.  Cornelius glanced at the doctor.  

"Only one drop?  Are you sure he will be telling the truth?" Cornelius asked.  Dr. Happensdam shrugged.  

"It says three drops for adults.  Considering the boy's size, this should be plenty," the doctor replied.  Cornelius frowned.  

"Then you don't know for sure?" Cornelius pressed.  

"Minister…"  Happensdam said dryly.  Cornelius scowled at his colleague's tone.  "As you well know this is not my area of expertise …" Dr. Happensdam replied, annoyance evident on his face.  Cornelius suppressed an angry growl.  _This was not an acceptable answer.  __It took me far too long to get a hold of the boy.  He was going to make damned sure the answers he got he could guarantee were true.  Because it was likely he wasn't going to get a second shot at it.  _

"It's okay, Harry.  I'm right here.  You're not alone," Percy called, and Cornelius rolled his eyes in annoyance at the melodrama, finally casting a silencing charm on the annoying boy.  

"Doctor… Give him an adult dosage," Cornelius instructed.  In truth, he wasn't sympathetic to The Boy Who Lived.  _So he's lost his parents.  So had Cornelius.  __You don't see anyone giving *me* a parade at the tragedy, do you?  The boy had already proven himself a headache for the Ministry, what with all the additional wards and spells they had been forced to keep in place to protect the boy until recently.  He'd proven far more effort that Cornelius felt he was worth, and he *certainly* didn't appreciate the squeamishness of those around him when it came to what he'd decided needed to be done.  _

Lane shot Cornelius a distressed look, but said nothing.  Percy Weasley, pinned against the wall, was struggling against his bindings admirably.  "Mr. Weasley, do you want me to have to stun you?" Cornelius asked impatiently.  Percy froze, then shook his head hesitantly.  

There was no need to trap Harry's jaw now.  "Harry, open your mouth," Dr. Happensdam instructed.  Under the Veritaserum, Harry obediently did so, his eyes glazed.  The doctor placed two more drops on Harry's tongue and waited a few moments for it to take effect.  

"Now, Mr. Potter…." Cornelius said eagerly, settling himself in the chair right in front of Harry.  "Are you responsible for Cedric Diggory's death?"

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Harry's mind screamed in pain as the potion flowed through his veins.  Fire, burning acid…  Harry felt his body spasm and begin to convulse against the bindings, effectively choking himself and straining muscles and tendons against the ever constricting bindings of the chair.  

"…hold him…" A voice somewhere in the distance called.  Harry couldn't think, he could only feel, and his body no longer felt like his own.  He'd hoped the Veritaserum would be more like an exaggerated version of the Imperius Curse.  That the 'letting go' sensation would happen, and that would be that.  

They'd warned him of the side effects, but Harry had made up his mind, and it was too late now.  Tears flowed down his cheeks as he choked against the straps, his head rattling against the wood of the chair and his hands scratching claw marks into its arms.  

_Sirius, Harry's mind cried, for this is what he held to.  This was who he'd done this for.  He was dying, he knew it, and if *this*…  the truth about Sirius, could be revealed, then it would all be worth it.  But Harry couldn't help it.  Through all the pain the potion burned into his skin, all Harry could think about was how he wished he were still with Sirius and Remus at the Burrow, and how he wished this hadn't have happened.  _

More straps snaked around Harry's body, effectively beginning to immobilize him completely.  When eventually Harry's body stilled, Fudge leaned forward and asked again…

"Are you responsible for Cedric Diggory's death?" Fudge asked, his voice unphased by Harry's convulsions.  

"Yes," Harry replied.  Percy looked shocked.  

"How?" Fudge asked, his eyes alight with anticipation.  As Harry began to explain all that had happened during the Third Task with a monotonous voice, Fudge's expression darkened and grew angrier and more frustrated until finally he smacked Harry across the face.  "Liar!" Fudge said, enraged.  Harry watched, an idle spectator in his own mind, as Fudge grew so angry that his face turned bright red, and when he spoke spittle spattered Harry's face.  

"No," Harry's distant voice disagreed.    Dr. Happensdam came behind him. 

"Cornelius… He's telling the truth," Dr. Happensdam said.  

"No.  Give him more of the Veritaserum.  He's fighting it.  Look at the seizures he had.  It's all a sign that he's fighting it.  He's the Boy Who Lived.  Of course he can fight the Veritaserum.  What was I thinking?" Fudge said, enraged.  

"No, I won't," the doctor replied.  Harry noted Percy's expression.  His face was wet with tears, and he still tried to struggle discretely against the binding spell.  Harry watched as Percy locked eyes with the man called Lane.  Fudge and the doctor were arguing over what to do next and didn't notice the exchange between the two men.  Percy slid his eyes to the quill still rapidly taking down each word that was uttered, then nodded to Lane.  Lane nodded once, briefly.  Harry felt too tired to speculate, and in truth he seemed to be beginning to numb up, as if he could no longer feel his limbs.  

Evidently some sort of resolution was come to, for Fudge returned his attention to Harry.  "So tell me, Harry.  What do you know about the wizarding disappearances that have been occurring lately?" Fudge asked.  

Harry began to recount his dreams, wishing he could find a way to swallow his tongue or otherwise refuse to continue to talk.  Harry explained, still in a toneless voice, of his shared visions with Voldemort.  The nightmares flashed before his eyes as he relived each and every one, specifying details.  The look on Fudge's face was that of the proverbial cat who'd swallowed the canary.  

When Harry had finally finished, the room was stunned silent.  Even the Aurors in the background, obviously loyal to Fudge, were shocked.  Fudge, however, stood up quickly and walked to the cell door, knocking once.  The guard outside opened the door, and Fudge stepped out into the hallway for a moment before returning inside.  He was whistling cheerfully.   

Nausea made Harry begin to feel ready to vomit, and the tight strap against his neck certainly wasn't helping his gag reflex.  Harry's body began to shudder again and he tried to blink the sweat that dripped into his eyes. After a few moments, more footsteps echoed outside the door.  The guard opened it up, and Harry watched in horror as Anne from his dreams stepped inside the room, blinking in bewilderment.  Fudge strode over to the little girl, resting a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.  

"Thank you for coming, Anne.  I've got someone I want to see if you recognize.  Can you do that for me?  Can you tell me if you know this person?" Fudge positively oozed calmness and confidence.  Anne looked around the room and her eyes widened in horror at the sight of Harry in the chair.  Harry felt like screaming in rage inside.  _How can you do this?!  She's just a child?  At least take the straps off me first, can't you see you're terrifying her?!_

"Ghost!" the little girl exclaimed and ran towards the chair.  Tears welled up in her eyes as she stared at Harry, her little hand trying to wrap itself under Harry's trapped fingers.  She frowned at the blood on his fingertips.

"Anne, have you seen this boy before?" Fudge asked the little girl.  She nodded, her pigtails bouncing innocently as her eyes searched Harry's.  

"What's going on, Ghost?" she asked quietly.  Harry was touched by the nickname she'd given him.  Under the Veritaserum, he was compelled to answer, much to his horror.  

"They're interrogating me," Harry replied.  She blinked in shock.  

"Why?" she asked.  

"They want to blame me for your family's death," Harry replied even as Fudge stepped forward, pulling the girl away from Harry.  

"That's not true!  He saved my life!  He was a ghost, but he still helped me, and you're hurting him!" Anne cried as Fudge forcefully pulled her away from Harry, nearly lifting her as he steered her towards the door.  

"Yes, but did he save your family?" Fudge asked smoothly.  Harry felt shame writhe in his stomach.  He hadn't been able to spare her the pain he himself had had to endure.  He felt horrible now for how pleased he'd felt to have saved her.  He should have been able to do more.  He should have been able to save her parents, too.

"He couldn't," Anne replied, and somewhere in the back of Harry's mind a sob of relief stole over him.  She didn't blame him for her family's death.  _She doesn't blame me.  _

He was so relieved that he didn't notice Anne was gone after protesting loudly about Harry's innocence until Fudge had returned to crouch in front of Harry, a feral smile on his lips.  Only Harry seemed to notice the whispered words Lane uttered, and the scroll that abruptly appeared in Percy's hand, which he quickly shoved up his robe sleeve with his fingertips.  The rest of the men in the cell had their eyes trained on Harry, and he knew what was coming next.

"Harry Potter, by the powers vested in me by the Ministry of Magic, I hereby charge you as an accomplice in the recent disappearances of certain wizards and witches within our community, as validated by an eyewitness and testimony under Veritaserum and by order made by the Ministry of Magic under section 58(7) and (8) of the Wizarding Criminal Procedure and Investigations Act of 1996.  You are to be held without bail in Azkaban until such time as a court date can be set for your arraignment before the Ministry," Fudge said triumphantly.  Harry felt his nausea finally begin to overwhelm him, and watched in horror as Fudge walked up to Percy and placed his wand against Percy's temple.  

"Oblivate," Fudge said, even as the doctor did the same to Lane.  

Harry had done his best.  He'd tried to help, and failed Sirius.  That moment of defeat was the most profound Harry had ever felt.  So many things he'd tried to do over his lifetime, and failed.  He had failed Cedric, he'd failed Sirius, and he'd failed Dumbledore.  His blood had raised Voldemort.  

Harry had wanted so desperately to try to help, and it had all just been a waste.  _I would have been better off handing myself over to Voldemort.  __At least it would be quicker.  He'd so badly wanted to be able to live with Sirius, as they'd discussed so long ago.  Harry knew in his heart that it could never be.  He just wasn't wired to be happy.  Good things just didn't happen to him very often.  Hogwarts and the discovery that he was a wizard had meant so much to him, but the home he treasured in Hogwarts Harry understood would only be temporary.  He'd graduate, and move on.  _

The home Sirius had promised was permanent, and would exist no matter how old Harry was.  The home Harry had wanted to give Sirius was one where his godfather could walk the streets in peace, enjoy holidays and pubs, travel Diagon Alley with Harry before school terms, shopping companionably.  He'd wanted to give Sirius some measure of peace, where he wouldn't always be a wanted man and could begin to try to heal from all he'd endured.  

Harry felt tears flow freely down his face and realized that he'd long ago stopped caring what happened to himself, but that he cared very deeply what happened to Sirius, Remus, the Weasleys, Dumbledore, his friends...  And now there was no longer anything he could do for them.  Harry's eyes closed in defeat as the Veritaserum finally began to completely overwhelm him, and he heard nothing more.  

**TBC…**

Colleen:  I'm so glad you like it!  Yes, Harry's such a beautiful character to write.  He's so sad and yet still so hopeful.  He's not really bitter about his childhood, even though it still causes him pain.  It's more about loneliness.  Yep, I really wanted to characterize Dumbledore as more than either with or without a twinkle in his eye.  He's so much more than that.  He's a lot like Snape… it's all internal, and if we didn't hear it from *his* thoughts, it's likely we never will.  I'm not sure if I'll have the courage to give his POV.  It's better to witness him from the outside.  

Balizabeth:  Thank you very much.  I absolutely agree with you.  I also like your thoughts on writing.  Thanks for the kind compliment about Lupin and Snape.  I've found that Lupin is actually a little more difficult to write than Snape.  Lupin is really easy to slip into 'teacher' mode, so to keep him fleshed out without making him martyrish is hard to do.  After all, he's gone through so much, and continues to do so.  He's a strong character with a lot of regrets.  I adore him.

Kate the Great:  You got me there.  Here's a cupie doll, because I'm busted.  Sorry about that.  I do intend at the end of posting this story to go back and correct all these little things I missed.  Please disregard, and assume that it takes a really long time to prepare for a World Cup, so the concern is still merited.  8-)  Glad you like it.  Lots more angst to come. 

SparklyPrincess:  Yep, you're right.  Read my caveat above.  8-)  You found me out!

Badger Lord:  I'm so glad you liked that.  Sometimes *that* kind of internal pain is really hard to depict from the inside.  I'm glad you didn't think it too shallow.

Dazdnconfusd730: All is forgiven.  8-)

Dark Luna Angel, anonymous, Sherylyn, sk8reagle (very true), Me (see, I updated), SpiderGirl05, AllAboutMe, Anti Pasta, Cassie (Thank you! g), Tempest Princess, Centra-gal86 (g), Shadow Ladi (I've been accused of that before…  Me too, though.  Poor Harry), Endriago Luna (You'll have to wait and see…  8D), jenny (here you go), ratgirl (I'll need to look into that), malexandria (thanks!), psychochick (I'm really glad you like him.  He's my favorite.  Oh, and I thoroughly intend to finish g), Amy, Minerva-Severus-Dumbledor, Caroline (YAMW: You are most welcome), FirePixie28, Kimmy, WeasleyTwinsLover1112, Hyper Princess, Slytherin Sweetheart, WhetherRose (I look forward to hearing more from you!  Thank you.), Japangirlcarley24 (G), Ashley (Is this soon enough?  No, wait.  Don't answer that.), Von (timing is everything), Kore (thank you!), venus4280, Kranberries, Teigra:  Thank you all so much for your kind words and reviews!  The consensus is in:  Percy's a prat.  8-)  I'm glad you're enjoying it.  More to come.  

Lothey: Hmm.  Very insightful review all the way around.  I agree.  How *can* he survive?  (Do keep in mind Snape's potion actually put Harry into a deeper state, hence his ability to actively participate.  The earlier ones are more indicative of what… Doh.  I'm stopping right there.  Stinker!  You're right.  He doesn't have a lot of time.  I agree.  I feel the same way about all that Harry goes through, then bouncing back and everything's just 'peachy'.  It's not plausible.  Just like we *know* he'll be changed after the Third Task.  Interesting predictions, though.  Only time will tell…  8-)

Tanya:  Personally, I don't think there will ever be a time Harry doesn't think of others first… unless he's being clueless, which he has been known to do.  Rarely, though.  He's so sensitive.  Yeah, I definitely don't envy Remus. Personally, I think it's a draw, but only because Sirius has already got 12 years of suffering on him anyway (Dursleys vs. Dementors… hmmm.  Maybe they're more equal than I thought.)  Yes, Sirius is what Harry's clinging to.  If he loses it, Harry's got nothing (in his eyes).  Thank you very much for the kind compliment.  Please keep recommending it!  8-)

Nicky:  Yes, here is where it begins.  Hehehehehe.  glows  Thank you so much.  I treasure your comments.  It was definitely one of the smarter things I've ever done… Posting my stuff.  The validation has given me the ability to be critical of my own work without being sensitive.  It's an important distinction.  So, you got it.  No one *ever* gets to tell me otherwise.  I'll just delete their reviews snickers.

Moonriter: giggles  Here you go.  I'm so glad you like it.  I personally love the details too.  I mean, there are only so many plots in this world.  Boy meets girl, bad vs good, personal growth, etc.  Everyone does them, and only sometimes does something completely unique come along (I adored the concept of Groundhog Day.  That was brilliant, even though it too is about personal growth).  So it's the details that make you *care* more, make it seem more real.  I'm glad you like it.  

Wonder:  G  I'm a sponge.  I just can't seem to get enough of the kind compliments I've been getting about my writing.  It means SO much to me.  Thank you! 8-)

-_-: Well, I never said it was a sleeping potion.  But he was so upset, they felt they couldn't leave him like that.  Hang on to your stress ball, though.  

Lothey:  I'm glad you liked Snape here.  Personally I got a kick out of having him contemplate getting struck by lightening just for the sake of his potions, but no one else has seemed to comment, so this must be an opinion of two (you and me).  You know, I've thought that same thing.  After writing them… How will I feel reading them?  Only time will tell.

Nexus:  You'll see…


	23. Understanding

Disclaimer: Harry Potter… Adored, but not owned. Alas…

Author's Note: I won't be able to send out notifications until this evening. If you see this and didn't hear from me yet, I really still am letting people know. I just couldn't wait to post! 8-) Enjoy, and as always, please read and review! G

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Chapter 23

Percy sat at his desk, completely numb. He read, once again, the formal charges against Harry that he was supposed to process and felt his mind go oddly blank. _How can this be? When did this happen? I was supposed to be there. Why didn't the Minister summon me when they brought Harry in? _Percy kept asking himself. He'd been at his desk the entire time. It wasn't as if he were hard to reach. That's all he *ever* was. At his desk. Filing. Copying. Percy pushed angrily away from his desk, rolling his chair backwards and scattering the organized pile of papers in front of him.

He'd overheard the reports about what had happened at the Burrow, and his heart had broken. They weren't supposed to *_assault_* the Burrow. They weren't supposed to hurt his family. They were only supposed to bring Harry in for questioning. _How did this happen? _He refused to acknowledge the tears he knew were threatening to fall, yet again, at the realization of what had occurred. Of how completely he'd failed everyone. And now Harry was going to Azkaban. 

It was the most insane, bizarre, ludicrous idea Percy had ever heard of. Harry was sick. He'd been sick since Percy's father had rescued him from the Dursleys. He was fifteen years old, and most definitely *not* Voldemort or Sirius Black. 

But Lane's report was right in front of him. The testimony spelled it all out. Minister Fudge had administered Veritaserum to a fifteen year old boy, who'd then admitted to being an accomplice *after the fact* in a slew of recent wizarding disappearances, and who'd admitted guilt in the death of Cedric Diggory. 

Percy shook his head, resting a trembling hand on the bridge of his nose to try to ease the pounding headache that caused his brain to buzz as loudly as the lighting in his office. _Harry didn't kill anyone_. Percy knew that. He knew it with the same certainty that he knew there was magic in the world and that dragons were real. 

__

So what happened? Percy wondered for the thousandth time. _You've been hoodwinked, friend_, his brain said helpfully. Percy shook his head, even as the obvious spoke to him. _What kind of a man gives an ill, fifteen year old boy Veritaserum and then sends him to Azkaban to await a hearing? Only the hardest criminals are sent there before sentencing. How can this be happening? Face it, old chap. Your dad was right_, Percy's other voice said cheerfully, as if it were gloating. 

"No," Percy uttered aloud, his breath hitching at the sobs that still threatened to overtake him. "No!" Percy said again, feeling angry and like a fool; a complete and utter fool. He slammed his fist against the desk angrily, not caring at the odd popping noises that sent waves of fire up his nerves to his brain. Abruptly, Percy stilled as he looked at his rapidly bruising hand. Or, more appropriately, at the scroll that had popped out of a hidden magical pocket he'd placed in his robe sleeves years ago. It held any number of useful things, usually essential items for protection against Fred and George, who found Percy to be their favorite victim. _Prissy Percy_, he remembered idly as he looked more closely at the scroll before him with a mounting sense of dread. It had Lane's seal of authentication on it. 

****************************************************************************

Arthur sat in a quiet booth in the back of the Three Broomsticks awaiting his arrival. He sipped absently at a soda with cherry syrup. His stomach certainly couldn't handle anything stronger at the moment. _Merlin._

"I've got to talk to you. Alone. In private," Percy had said, his voice oddly stiff and formal coming from the fireplace that evening. Madam Pomfrey had George recuperating upstairs nicely, Fred and Ron hovering at his side. Molly was currently resting on the couch after drinking a potion to ease the aches of the multiple stunning spells she'd endured. Ginny was in the kitchen with Hermione, fixing the family meal. _Thank Merlin Ron was not in the living room, or the conversation wouldn't have happened_, Arthur thought absently. 

"Where and when?" was all Arthur had asked. In truth, he didn't even know how to begin with Percy. They'd never quite connected properly. Even though Percy had always been bound and determined to follow in his father's footsteps in the Ministry, there'd always been a… distance between them. Arthur had seen it early on, and tried to rectify it. But it always remained. It had taken many years to finally realize what the barrier had been between Percy and himself, and it pained him to acknowledge it. His son was ashamed of him. 

The teenage disapproval and belief that parents really don't know *anything* had never disappeared with Percy as it had with Bill and Charlie. There had come a time in both the older boy's lives when they'd come to appreciate their family as it was. Percy never had. In Percy's eyes, Molly was too smothering and Arthur was a naïve, blind follower of Dumbledore. Arthur's love and fascination of all things Muggle was a source of embarrassment for Percy, and his inability to rise within the Ministry ranks frustrated him. _Because he knows how hard you work_, Arthur reminded himself. He suspected that a lot of Percy's bitterness stemmed from the fact that Arthur worked incredibly hard for the Ministry, Dumbledore, and the things he believed in with little to no recognition for what he'd done. In Percy's eyes, Arthur's life work had become nothing more than a waste of time.

Arthur sighed as he took another sip of his drink. He loved Percy. In fact, he was proud of Percy's stiff pride and unbending determination to do things *his* way no matter what. But now his pride had done the unthinkable. He'd put his family in jeopardy, and he'd hurt another human being. And deep down, Arthur was terrified to learn the real reasons behind *why* Percy had done it. _Please let it not be for advancement_, Arthur prayed silently. _Let it be some misguided intention, or blind beliefs… Anything but ambition. _Arthur didn't know how to reconcile the boy he loved with the decisions the young man he'd grown up to be had made. Thank Merlin Molly hadn't woken up to see him in the fireplace. At the moment, she would have likely hexed him on sight then alternated between cursing and smothering him until he recovered. 

Arthur refused to think about how his family was doing at the moment. They'd been devastated. _That's an understatement_. Arthur knew the numbness he felt now was simply because he still had things to do. _This is the course I've set for myself._ _I'll have a good stiff drink and a cry later, when George's awake, Molly's better, and Harry's safe. _Things needed to be discussed, options looked at, regarding Harry. Arthur was going to pay Dumbledore a visit after this… _whatever **this** is… with Percy._

Percy entered the Three Broomsticks, his lips pursed as his eyes darted about the room, clearly searching for his father. Arthur had chosen a secluded booth in the corner. Whatever Percy wanted to talk about, he'd been serious about wanting privacy, so Arthur had accommodated. Percy's eyes landed on him, and Arthur was surprised at the stark relief he read there. Percy quickly crossed the room, absently placing an order with Madam Rosmerta before sliding onto the seat across from him. Arthur watched his son quietly for a moment before nodding. 

"I wasn't sure you'd come," Percy said. Arthur frowned. His voice sounded odd and strained. 

"I did," Arthur replied. 

"I didn't know who to talk to," Percy continued. 

"You can always talk to me," Arthur said. Percy looked up, his eyes distraught. Arthur hoped Percy understood the ramifications of what he'd done, but he'd wait. He wouldn't accuse. It was better to let Percy unfold what the meeting was about before he began placing blame. Although he wanted to throttle his son at the moment in frustration. _How could you do this?_

"I didn't think… after…" Percy began. Arthur waited for him to continue, refusing to fill in any blanks. "I… I didn't think they'd do this…" Percy said, and Arthur felt alarm. They'd had Harry in custody now for nearly half a day. _Surely things haven't gone that bad in just a few hours_. 

"What, Percy?" Arthur interrupted, trying to corral his son's random statements. 

"I didn't think they'd use Veritaserum on him…" Percy said, and Arthur nearly stood up in alarm. 

"No. Percy, what…" Arthur said in alarm, his worst fears realized. Percy began to cry openly now as he reached into his robe sleeve. For one horrible, haunting moment Arthur froze for fear Percy was reaching for his wand. That Percy was about to arrest or attack his own father now, too. Arthur forced his hands to be still, for the blood to quit pounding in his ears as his son slipped out a scroll and placed it in front of his father. Arthur reached forward tentatively to open it, his hands trembling with the rapidly fading adrenaline that now left him exhausted and drained. _Please, whoever hears these prayers, let me never have to doubt my own children again, _Arthur thought and suppressed the shame now threatening to rise up in place of his fear at doubting his own flesh and blood.

"I don't remember any of this," Percy stated as he now seemed to realize his face was soaked with tears. He scrubbed at them irritably with the sleeve of his robe very much like he had as a little boy as Madam Rosmerta placed Percy's gillyweed on the edge of the table, her eyes averted to allow her customers' discussion to continue uninterrupted before quickly retreating back behind the bar. Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat and unrolled the scroll. 

"Is this really…" Arthur asked, suddenly recognizing the seal. Percy nodded. 

"How are they, dad? Are they okay?" he asked, his face stark with guilt. Arthur wanted to shout for joy that his son had asked. It broke Arthur's heart how desperate he was for any proof that his son still cared, that what Percy had done mattered to him. But it did. 

"Your mum got hit with quite a few stunners there. She didn't want to let Harry go alone. George was hurt the worst. His leg was broken in numerous places, and he hit his head pretty hard falling down the stairs. Madam Pomfrey's seen him already, though, and says he'll be up and around tomorrow morning," Arthur said, not pulling any punches. Percy *had* to understand what he'd done. 

"They weren't supposed to do anything, dad. They were just supposed to…" Percy said, but Arthur didn't hear the rest of Percy's words because he'd begun to read Lane's transcription of what had taken place in Harry's interrogation, for that was most certainly what it was. Arthur looked up at Percy with haunted eyes as the events unfolded. _Poor boy. What have they done to you? Poor boy_, was all Arthur could think of until he came to where the scroll ended. _Azkaban_. _They're taking him to Azkaban_. Arthur watched as his son dissolved into quiet sobs. "He promised…" Percy said between hiccups. Arthur forced himself to remain in his seat, not to reach out to comfort his son. Percy needed to learn this lesson, and learn it well. Arthur didn't know if he could endure having it repeated.

"Oh, Percy. What have you done?" Arthur asked his son sadly, not really expecting an answer, and took off his glasses for a moment to wipe at his own tears tiredly, massaging the bridge of his nose where the nosepieces felt like they'd left permanent indentations. 

"I couldn't stop them. I don't even remember this, but I've run all the tests. It's true. Lane can't remember it, either. But this is really his. He even put additional magical signatures on it, along with a certifiable wizard timestamp to insure he had it all recorded. *This* is what they want me to process," Percy said and produced a nearly identical scroll, which Arthur quickly scanned with growing alarm. 

"And he wants this released to the press?" Arthur asked, shocked. He'd feared this day would come, had prepared himself for it in every way he could think of, yet it was still a shock. _How can anyone do this to a child?_ Percy nodded. 

"He's already on his way, dad. I… I don't remember anything. I don't remember seeing him, or any of this conversation," Percy said, his face desperate. "I've got to undo this, dad. I've got to stop them…" he said, his voice several octaves higher than normal from the stress. Arthur raised a hand tiredly. 

"You learned a long time ago Percy that it takes a lot longer to fix something than it does to break it," Arthur said sternly to his son. "There's nothing you can do at the moment to help Harry. He's going to face the Dementors, and indirectly it's because of you," Arthur said, trying to drive the truth home. He knew Percy felt responsible, but would he be accountable for his actions? He'd come to Arthur with the scroll. Would he be willing to see it through? Would he be willing to acknowledge his own folly? _It's time to choose sides, son. This isn't a game_. Percy looked shocked at Arthur's statement. 

"But I never…" Percy objected. Arthur raised a hand to stop him. 

"So you've read the full testimony?" Arthur asked. Percy nodded. "Do you believe Harry? Do you believe us?" he pressed. Percy leaned back in his chair, his eyes glancing at the empty booths around him nervously. 

"What are you asking, dad?" Percy said softly. 

"Do you believe You Know Who has risen?" Arthur asked. Percy looked profoundly uncomfortable. 

"I…" Percy began, and Arthur growled at the back peddling he suspected was about to take place. Arthur slammed his fist against the table angrily. 

"They gave him Veritaserum!" Arthur hissed, ignoring the surprised looks from a couple of regulars at the bar. Percy was looking everywhere but at his father. "If you can't believe *that*, then you're as bad as Fudge. And you're going to have to stop calling Harry a liar, because it's not that he's lying, it's that You. Don't. Want. To. Believe," Arthur said with enough force to stun Percy into stillness. His eyes were wide in shock and his mouth hung open in a small 'O'. 

"Then it's true. No, dad, I *don't* want to believe him, but you're right. How can I refute what's been said all along? What poor Harry recounted in such awful detail? Merlin. Those dreams, that's what he's been seeing, and I just made him relive it," Percy said weakly. Arthur refrained from reminding his son that Harry was about to do that on a permanent basis until they found a way to get him out of Azkaban. There was such a thing as rubbing salt in the wound. 

"So what are you going to do about it?" Arthur asked his son. Percy sat in silence for some time. The range of emotions that played across his face were complicated, and Arthur decided to let them play themselves out. This was an answer that had to come *completely* from his son, without any of his father's prompting. Arthur sipped at his cherry soda, forcing his face into a mask of calm and stillness that clearly began to annoy his son. 

"What? What do you want me to say? That I was wrong? That you're right? There. I said it," Percy said angrily. Arthur blinked at his son, refusing to rise to the bait. "What? What do you want from me?" Percy asked, turning his guilt into aggression and anger. 

"Nothing, son. Nothing," Arthur said, and took a huge gamble in making a motion to stand. Percy's hand streaked out and grabbed his father's wrist. 

"No. No, dad… No, I'm sorry. Don't…" Percy said, struggling through his own emotions. "Don't go," he finally said quietly. Arthur nodded and took his seat again. "I'm in. I got Harry into this, and I'll get him out. Whatever it takes. It's clear Fudge is out to cover his own arse, and that he's setting Harry up. He must have performed a memory charm on Lane and myself, so first I'll need to try to break it. Can you help me with that?" Percy asked, finally calming his emotions as he faced the task at hand. Arthur nodded. 

"This could mean your job," Arthur said solemnly. Percy nodded. 

"Suddenly it doesn't seem to matter as much, does it?" Percy asked with suddenly wise eyes, and the shared knowledge between father and son finally bridged a barrier that had been between them for far too long. 

"No, it doesn't, does it? Come on, I've got someone who I think can help with those charms," Arthur said, standing up. The drink that Percy had ordered remained on the table, untouched. As the two strode out into the summer night, Percy automatically turned in the direction of Hogwarts. He knew where to go. 

*********************************************************************************

Remus Lupin walked the passageway tiredly back to the Shrieking Shack, his mind whirling at the latest news. He'd gone to assist Dumbledore in breaking the memory charms on Percy, and had learned far more than he'd wanted to. _That's one story I'm not going to be relating back to Sirius any time soon_, he thought. In truth, Remus was having a difficult time not sinking to the floor and curling into a ball. Although his ribs had been healed for nearly a day now, the remembered shock and pain of Harry's expression as he insisted on letting himself get captured brought a twinge to Remus' chest. Foolish, brave, stupid, naïve Harry… Remus wanted to cry. 

Forcing his mind back to the present, trying not to let his own feelings of failure overwhelm him, Remus contemplated how he was going to help Sirius. Percy had proven to be amazingly cooperative, especially once the memory spells had been broken. 

Of course, apparently Harry had been more aware of the possibility of his failure to convince the Ministry than even Remus had realized. He'd made Percy promise to bring the truth to light. 

As Percy had spoken Harry's words, Remus felt chills zip up and down his spine at the promise Harry had extracted from Percy, no matter how cavalierly Percy had given it. In essence, Harry had created a sort of wizard's oath between them, sealing Percy's devotion to a cause he'd refused to believe in so cleverly that Remus realized even Arthur might not understand the full ramifications. But Dumbledore certainly had by the expression Remus saw flash briefly across his face as Percy related their conversation. 

By making it clear Harry was placing his trust and his life in Percy's hands… Remus exhaled forcefully. He'd been forgetting to do that recently. _Breathe_. Dumbledore was going to visit the Burrow in several hours, to discuss the paperwork Percy was about to smuggle back for the rest of the Weasleys to begin the arduous task of looking for where the bodies were buried. _Literally_. 

It was impossibly frustrating for Remus to believe that the proof of memory spells and the tampered testimony Fudge had submitted against Harry were not enough to free him immediately. _We need a chain of evidence. The Ministry is too far gone now, too entrenched in their own lies_. It was going to take more than just one thing to topple this administration. _For that's what we now have to do_. It was no longer a matter of steering clear of Fudge and doing what they felt they must. Now Fudge was as much a part of the problem as Voldemort… and people were dying because of his refusal to acknowledge Voldemort's return. His blatent disregard for the safety of the wizarding community in the face of the recent Death Eater attacks officially placed blood on his hands. By allowing the public their false sense of security, the public wasn't being given the chance to properly try to protect themselves, to take extra precautions. 

Remus opened the door to the Shrieking Shack hesitantly. It was silent inside. Magically locking the door behind him, Remus tentatively stepped into the bedroom. Sirius was awake, his eyes flat and unseeing as he stared at the wall in front of him and absently stroked an orange cat who was blissfully purring on the bed beside him. 

Remus stopped abruptly. _That's Hermione's pet, Crookshanks_. He'd sealed the shack behind him, and Sirius didn't have a wand. How had Crookshanks gotten in, and more importantly, what was he doing there? He certainly was a long way from home.

"Sirius?" Remus asked, his soft voice still sounding too loud in the silence of the room. Sirius didn't answer, but Crookshanks turned to face Remus, blinking his eyes contentedly for a moment before turning back to face Sirius. He had an oddly liquid purr, as if it didn't just come from his throat, but from deep within his lungs as well. _A purr muffled by water_, Remus thought distractedly. _Crookshanks and Sirius had developed an odd connection_, Remus suddenly remembered. Hermione's pet had even tried to protect Sirius from Harry's wand, Remus recalled. Sirius stayed where he was, not looking up or acknowledging Remus' presence at all. 

Remus crossed the room to sit on the bed beside his friend, his mind desperately searching for what the right words would be to bring him back. Sirius had awoken from the potion Remus had given him to cry and scream seemingly for hours before finally stilling into silence. His face was slack, his muscles loose, as if he were beginning to emotionally shut down. Sirius had been in the same position on the bed when Remus left him nearly two hours ago… _minus the cat… No… kneazle, right? Hmmm. A mix, if I remember correctly, _Remus thought distractedly, amazed at the randomness of his own thoughts. 

"Sirius," Remus said again more forcefully, reaching out and placing the flat of his hand against Sirius' cheek, turning him to face Remus. Sirius didn't resist. 

"How could this happen? We had him, Moony. He was safe with us. Now he's… he's…" Sirius said, his eyes searching Remus' face. He must have read something there, for abruptly his entire demeanor changed. He looked into Remus' eyes and suddenly stilled. Defeat and sadness turned into something else, and Remus suppressed showing the alarm he felt at Sirius' expression. "They've used it, haven't they?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. _The Veritaserum_. 

For all of Sirius' bluster and noise, Remus was well aware that ***_this_* **momentwas when Sirius was at his most dangerous. Sirius furious or howling mad could eventually be reasoned with. This face Sirius presented now Remus had only seen a few times in his life, and in truth it terrified him. _Infinitely more dangerous_. Only death would stop Sirius once he chose a direction. Remus took a deep breath to calm his nerves, frantic for what he was about to say to be right, as he locked eyes with his best friend. Even Crookshanks stopped purring as if sensing all of the undercurrents to Sirius' tone. The cat looked between the two of them as if he were following the conversation and understood what the two men were saying. 

"Padfoot… I'm going to say this just once, but it's important for you to really try to listen," Remus said, leaning forward so that he and Sirius were nearly nose to nose, so Sirius could see the sincerity and intensity of what Remus was trying to convey. 

"Harry's not dead. He's alive. As long as he's alive, we have *got* to do everything in our power to help him," Remus said, willing what little hope he had into his friend. Sirius blinked. 

"How is he…?" Sirius whispered, his voice a soft hiss. _Who do I extract vengeance on? Who pays for what they've done to my godson? _Remus knew to be his real thoughts. 

"He's still alive…" Remus said, emphasizing his point again. Besides, he didn't want to have to utter the next sentence. Sirius guessed anyway. 

"They're sending him to Azkaban, aren't they?" Sirius asked, his voice expressionless. Remus nodded, not daring to speak. "It's because they know Harry won't last long there. Probably not more than a week at the most," Sirius stated matter-of-factly. Remus cringed at the brutal truthfulness of the statement and nodded. He know better than most just how badly the Dementors affected Harry.

Sirius nearly leaped off of the bed as Crookshanks savagely scratched Sirius' thigh, tearing straight through his pants. Remus jumped back in surprise, but Sirius began to laugh… The laughter fluctuated in pitch so dramatically that Remus froze, stunned at how maniacal his friend sounded. How frightening. If he'd laughed like that after his confrontation with Pettigrew, no wonder the witnesses had been terrified. 

"You're right, aren't you little fellow?" Sirius asked the cat affectionately, his voice still deadly, scratching underneath Crookshanks' chin fondly even as Remus watched blood begin to flow from the scratches on Sirius' thigh. 

"Sirius?" Remus asked, unsure how to proceed. Sirius was beginning to really disconcert Remus.

"He's still alive. We haven't much time. Can you keep up?" Sirius said as he seemed to unfold from the bed with cat-like grace, standing on the mattress before nonchalantly stepping to the floor. His face was as intense and focused as when Remus had first seen his friend in the Shrieking Shack over a year ago. After he'd broken Ron's leg. 

"I'll apparate when I can't," Remus replied in determination, standing. He was heartened by his friend's response, but knew they were all on borrowed time. Remus might not be in the best of health, but his enhanced senses and strength in a fight could prove invaluable... And he was **certainly **no slouch in the hexes department.

__

Besides, this time I'm not letting Harry go, Remus thought, wishing Harry could have stayed with him instead of the Dursleys for the thousandth time, pushing his regret aside and using his friend's grim determination as a model. He looked at the escaped convict before him and felt the wolf rise within him once again, stirred by his protectiveness and need to help both Harry and Sirius. This was his ***family* **in every sense of the word. Even if it killed him, he'd keep up with Sirius. Sirius nodded in satisfaction. 

"Wormtail was here," Sirius said. Remus felt his breathe whoosh out in surprise. Sirius nodded, smiling gleefully, even maniacally. "This little guy's been tracking him," Sirius said, nodding his head fondly towards Crookshanks, who was seated at the edge of the bed with his fluffy tail curled daintily around his feet. Remus refrained from asking the question: _Can you talk to him? How do you know?_ "We have a scent, Moony and a window of opportunity. Harry wanted to prove my innocence by talking about Pettigrew. So let's find something the Ministry can't hide… Well, um… as long as we guard it…" Sirius suddenly stumbled over the irony of his own words, losing his momentum, grinning dangerously at his own statement. _For the Ministry has indeed been hiding the bodies, haven't they? _Remus nodded. _Time to shine some light on the Ministry's dirty little secrets._ "Produce Pettigrew and everything else the Ministry has argued crumbles," Sirius said. 

"Actually, we also have falsified scrolls and altered memories as well. It's not enough on its own, but in combination…" Remus said. Sirius nodded in satisfaction, although there was no humor in his smile. Remus felt as if he'd dodged a silver bullet when his friend didn't ask to read the transcripts. _He knows what happened. Momentum at its most dangerous._

"Perhaps our own Minister would like a taste of Azkaban?" Sirius asked, and Remus' eyes widenend. It was certainly true that he'd violated so many regulations. Remus smiled evilly in return. Yes, he'd be happy with that outcome. _Very happy_. 

TBC…

Colleen: Very true. Ignorance is bliss indeed.

Nicky: I'm working on it. Sorry it's taking so long. I've got revisions first. 8-) This is where it all comes together, so I'm going to have to work a little harder to make sure it all works. The chapters are still coming though… just a little slower. g 

Kimmy, CherryStain, Moonlight, sk8reagle (A bad guy. An accomplice, if you will. Thanks!), Nexus, Moonywolf, Amy, Allocin (All will be revealed… Thank you!), baasheep (Thank you! g It's amazing what lengths someone will go to to preserve their own behind at the expense of others, isn't it? Now, I wouldn't do that… ahem), Caitlin, Teigra, Sakura Le (Thanks!), FirePixie28, Angels Kiss-G, Dark Luna Angel, Amadeo, -_- (You'll see…), malexandria (I understand your sentiment. Conspiracy theories abound.), Seeker-2000 (Wow. I appreciate that! Thanks!), Anti Pasta, OmegaNY (You'll see…), Centra_gal86 (No Howlers, please ducks in fright), dazdnconfusd730, sherlock 2k (giggles I've had most of it in my head, but to get these later chapters to work I did have to outline it. Good luck yourself!), kapies, Anoni (lol Yes, I haven't been bored at all with this story. In fact, it's a bit of an addiction. g), Me, Hummingfox (Hmmm. I'll have to check. If I didn't, I'll try to address soon. **That** would certainly end the story, wouldn't it? Thanks!), Bridgie (I try to do about one a week), Lindsay, Coconut-ice agent h/h (Hmmm. Let's see if I get this right cracks knuckles: HTML is a markup language that is used to create hypertext and hypermedia documents on the World Wide Web incorporating text, graphics, sound, video, and hyperlinks), Tempest Princess (blushes I'm working on it.), Badger Lord, Bumblebee Bucy (By all means, please do!), Star Light, Rosethorn8706 (G Yeah, I snuck that doctor in. He presents nicely, but Percy sniffed him out pretty quick, didn't he? Too bad he wasn't as suspicious of his boss. Why thank you!), SpiderGirl05, Harrylover (steps away from the computer nervously… Actually, for all that the magical world is much more fun than ours, there is an inequity. Any environment that will throw a man in prison for life without even a trial, who will ostracize and discriminate against werewolves, who will allow Lucius Malfoy to be a prominent citizen and not even try to stop Draco from saying horribly maligning, discriminatory things… You get the picture. Keep reading. Lots of developments ahead), KookKandyGrl eep, Michelle, Jenna, Becca Black (Me too), Kranberries, ratgirl (Yes, his prospects at the moment aren't good, are they?), Anna-mathe (bwah hah hah. You'll see.), Lei Dumbledore (G Thanks!), mnemosyne, Phoenix (You'll see), Elvin Goddess, Anonymous G, Kate the Great (g ), Anne (I'm working on that), LittleEar BigEar's sis (Oh, thanks! I'm trying), Vlana, Jenna: Well… The consensus is in. Everyone wants Fudge torture. G I'm glad you liked the chapter. Lots more to come. Maybe even a little comeuppance… 8-) 

Gracie: Thanks you. I try to do it about once a week. Hang in there! Here's a tissue…

Moonlight Yellow: Wow. I appreciate that. Snape was a little difficult at first, but he has the ability to take over. His sense of humor has been creeping into my everyday life (in my mind, not out loud.) Perhaps I'll need to wear sweeping black robes for Halloween just to get him out of my system. Hmm. I didn't mean to portray Harry childlike. I have issues when his behavior doesn't match his age in other fics, so I've been trying to keep that in line. I perceived that he's still horribly sick, has just woken up from being stunned, knows that **this is it** and things aren't looking so good. His confidence at the moment has been stripped away, and all that remains is to try to get **something** good out of bad situation. Shortly, hopefully you'll see the other side of that. I hope to keep the unexpected going, so hang in there! Hmm. Hadn't thought about that POV. Don't think I can do it now, though. Too late in the story. Sorry. It's a clever idea, though. Nope, have no fears, I do what pleases me. I do take suggestions and helpful criticism, though. Thanks very much. I hope I don't disappoint.

Lothey: I'm so sorry about your computer. 8-( Thanks for noticing that. He's only fifteen after all. Even he can't last without hope forever. I'm working on that… We'll see. 8-)

Sky Chief: Keep in mind that poor Harry's currently not in the best of health and feeling a tad downtrodden. When push comes to shove, his spirit's still intact, though. His fire remains. I understand, though. Harry's not about martyrdom as much as inner strength. It's what makes us all want to protect him as he himself doesn't truly realize how bad he has it. 

Silverleaf: True. The hardest part I've found in life is the waiting. When things happen, for good or ill, at least they're happening. Treading water sucks. As by now I'm sure you're realizing, this is a darker story. But as it gets darker, hopefully there will also be hope. Hang in there. How's that for a bone? 8-)


	24. Arrival

Disclaimer:  HP isn't mine.  Alas…  

**Chapter 24**

"Easy, Percy.  I've got you," Arthur Weasley said as he steadied Percy.  Floo travel on Percy's best day wasn't his forte.  Arthur kept an eye on Ron who leaped up from the dining room table as they arrived, the chair clattering behind him unnoticed.  Rage was evident even as Ron's eyes scanned his brother's face closely, noting Percy's unsteadiness and the way his freckles stood out starkly against his pale skin.  Of course, this didn't stop Ron from having his wand ready and aimed directly at Percy.  

"What's he doing here?  Come to arrest more of us?" Ron snarled.  Arthur frowned at his youngest son.  _Not now.  Let's deal with all of this later, he thought wearily.  It had proven to be a truly awful day, and Arthur refused to think about the fact that Harry had probably arrived at Azkaban by now.  _

"Put your wand down, Ron," Arthur said gently but firmly.  Ron looked from his father to his brother, and lowered the tip of his wand a little but did not drop it completely.  

"What's he doing here?" Ron asked again.  Arthur looked at both his sons as he half supported Percy over to the couch their mother had just recently occupied herself.  

"Steady, lad.  That took more than you thought, didn't it?" Arthur said tenderly to Percy as he directed his wand to help Percy with his boots.  

The memory charms on Percy had been surprisingly strong for having been so recently cast, suggesting multiple applications.  First castings were generally when memory charms were at their weakest.  Only after months and years of natural reinforcement of the block could it become nearly impossible to break.  

Arthur looked around, his eyes searching the room.  The front door had been repaired, of course. Ron had been in the process of doing that as Arthur had left for Hogsmeade, once the itching stopped.  He and Hermione must have finished straightening up the rest of the living room.  "Where's your mum?" Arthur asked Ron.  

"She's upstairs taking a bath.  She thought it might loosen things up," Ron replied, still glaring at Percy.  _Dad's protecting you now, but just you wait… Arthur read correctly from Ron's gaze.  Not that Arthur could blame him. Arthur nodded his head and a slight smile played on his lips for a moment at the news of Molly's soak.  _

"So she's feeling better, then?" Arthur persisted, although it certainly sounded like she was recovering nicely if she wanted a bath.  Ron sighed and nodded his head.  "How about George?  Has he woken up yet?" Arthur asked as he helped Percy lift his legs and lie back onto the couch cushions wearily.  He suspected Percy had a roaring headache.  Ron nodded.  

"He ate a little, too.  I figure if he's peckish enough to eat Hermione and Ginny's cooking, he's loads better," Ron joked gently.  Arthur felt his face brighten considerably, as Ron undoubtedly knew it would, at the comment.  

"How are the rest of you doing?" Arthur asked his youngest son, grateful at Ron's ability to sense his need to make sure that his family was indeed okay and reassure him that no, nothing too serious had happened.  _Another near miss…_

"I…" Ron began but was interrupted as Hermione came downstairs.  

"She kicked Ginny and I out, saying something about peace and quiet…" Hermione announced as she came downstairs and froze, her foot hovering as it was about to take another step.  "Um…  Ron….?" Hermione asked, and Ron beamed in pride as Hermione's wand whipped out as well.  Arthur restrained from rolling his eyes at the two of them.  "You!" Hermione said with anger plain in her face, glaring at the older son, prompting Arthur to physically place himself in front of the couch between her and Percy.  Ron he knew would listen, but Hermione…  Percy wasn't her family, and he'd just betrayed her best friend.  

"Please lower your wand, Hermione," Arthur instructed, his voice stern.  Hermione's wand tip lowered, but she kept it ready in her hand. 

"I don't know why he's here.  *Dad* brought him," Ron snarled in explanation as she proceeded downstairs.  Arthur glanced back at Percy.  His eyes were still closed, but his breathing pattern indicated he was still awake. He didn't say anything.  _There's nothing to say, really, is there? _

"He's here because he's *family*, Ron.  He doesn't need a reason," Arthur said sternly.  Ron scratched at his chin angrily.  Hermione's face remained eerily expressionless.  Arthur concentrated on his son.   If he could reach Ron, he would convince Hermione eventually.

"Why'd you bring him here, dad?" Ron asked.  "He's got his own flat now."

"Because he wants to help.  Your brother found out a memory charm had been placed on him, and he came to me to help him find a way to break it," Arthur replied.  Ron face lit up.  

"What… Has he been under the Imperious Curse?  Is *that* why he's been such a prat?  Why didn't you say so?  Who did it?  Was it Malfoy?  I'll bet it was…" Ron began, obviously ready to go after whoever had harmed his brother, and relieved to the point of being on the verge of tears that Percy hadn't really *meant* to do what he'd done to Harry.  Arthur hated to take away that relief.  _It's not nearly so simple, Ron._

"Ron.  No, Ron.  It was Percy's decision.  But Harry's interrogation records were falsified.  We've been with Remus and Dumbledore for the past few hours breaking those charms to find out what *really* happened," Arthur said, his voice subdued.  Ron closed his eyes wearily.  The expression in his eyes as he looked at Arthur nearly broke Arthur's heart.  

"What did really happen?" Hermione asked quietly.  Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but Ron cut in, glaring down at his brother who, Arthur noticed, was now watching them.

"Why, Percy?  What did Harry ever do to you?" Ron asked.  Hermione slowly made it the rest of the way downstairs, her eyes wide as she watched the exchange between the Weasley men.  Percy shook his head and sighed.  

"Nothing.  It wasn't about that.  I *like* Harry," Percy said.  Ron blinked several times, his face expressionless before his lips finally curled into a small snarl.  

"If that's what you do to people you like, I don't want to see what you do to people you love," Ron said venomously.  

"That's enough," Arthur said angrily and reached into his robe pockets.  "Rather than waste precious time for something that's ***already done*, why don't you do something constructive, like try to help me find a way to free Harry?" he said and proceeded to enlarge two enormous trunks full of parchments, which he then directed by floating into the dining room.  Hermione's mouth dropped open in shock as she looked from Ron to Percy.  Ron took a step back in surprise.  **

"Was this from you?" Hermione asked Percy.  Her face was still hard, but her eyes held… something more.  Percy nodded weakly.  

"It's copies of all the paperwork I've filed and processed in the past three months," Percy replied.  Arthur walked over to the trunks full of parchment and proceeded to flip open the lid to one of them.  Ron compressed his lips into a grim line, and began to clear the dining room table.  It was going to be a long evening, and Arthur intended to keep the news that Harry was in Azkaban as long as possible from Ron and Hermione.  It would do neither of them any good, and might even hinder their ability to help him search.

**************************************************************

Ron sat on the back porch in the early morning hours nursing a cup of tea.  He'd found out an hour ago about what really happened at the Ministry and now couldn't get his mind off of Harry.  He thought of his brother now sitting at the dining table along with his dad, Fred, Hermione and Ginny and once again felt the anger rise up inside him, desperate to strike Percy down.  _How could you? He couldn't even begin to describe how he felt about his brother at the moment.  __You had no idea what it was like for Harry, night after night.  Why did you even bother questioning him, if you refused to believe the answers?_

"Ron?" Hermione asked, the screen door slamming closed behind her as she joined him on the porch.  

"Here," he replied tiredly.  The writing on the parchments was beginning to blur.  His eyes were so tired he was surprised they weren't crossing.  

"Your mum's back in the kitchen again, so she insisted if I were joining you to bring some pastries," Hermione said, trying to infuse humor into her voice, but too tired to be able to do it properly.

"Thanks," Ron said, taking one from the plate she offered.  He could see her face illuminated from the light coming through the windows.  The circles under her eyes were accented in the lamplit shadows.  Her hair had been roughly pulled back into a bun, which she'd secured with one of Fred's fake wands.  Stray frizzy hairs surrounded her face like a peach fuzz halo, and the paleness of her skin was from more than her bookish tendencies.  

"We'll find something," Hermione said, her voice unsure.  Ron didn't ask if she was trying to reassure herself as well as him.  He knew the answer.  He hated how his father and Percy were currently discussing possible ways Fudge had hid resources.  It seemed so… _Normal__.  Like old times.  But Ron found he couldn't even look at Percy anymore.  To do so made his stomach clench so tightly he thought he might be sick.  Fred didn't look much better.  _

_You almost killed George.  He could have landed wrong.  What if they'd used stronger curses?  How many could have mum endured before it was too much?  It was never spoken aloud, but Ron and his brothers were ***extremely* protective of Ginny and their mother.  **_

When Ginny had been born, both mother and daughter had nearly died due to complications.  Although Ron didn't remember that day, it permeated every aspect of how he and his brothers perceived and treated both women.  It was the unspoken reason why any date Ginny ever had would be treated with a scrutiny unparalleled, and why any bad word against their family, especially unkind references to the size of their family, was met with such anger and hostility.

For Percy to break such an unspoken covenant between the brothers was by far the most devastating thing he could have ever done.  Yes, Ron had to concede that although Harry was an unofficial member of the Weasley clan, he wasn't blood.  _*I* think of him as family, and I know mum's claimed him as her own, but I can't expect everyone else to.  But not only had Percy gone against Harry and the family directly, he'd endangered them by his own decision as well.  __That, Ron thought, __is something I can't forgive.  __And Merlin help you if Harry dies, Ron vowed with a far more deep and powerful rage than he'd ever felt before.  __He may not be blood, but he's more a brother to me than you are._

Listening to the discussion going on inside, Ron realized some of what was making him so frustrated.  Percy and his father were still speaking to each other.  The tension in the room, although palpable, wasn't what it should be.  _This is wrong.  This isn't how it's supposed to be.  This was how his family interacted after a squabble, after Fred and George had done something particularly damaging to the Burrow, or after they'd played one too many pranks on Ginny.  _

This was Weasley life trying to pick up where it left off.  _This *is not* how people should behave after having your best friend arrested.  It trivialized it somehow, made it seem less important than it was, and Ron had to suppress an equally impotent anger towards his father for taking Percy back into the fold so easily._

"A knut for your thoughts," Hermione said after a while.  Ron sighed, reaching a hand back to massage the back of his neck.  The tension was beginning to give him a blinding headache.  

"I hate this.  I can't even imagine what Harry's going through, and you know what?  I feel like it's my fault," Ron said after a moment.  Hermione's eyes widened.  Abruptly, she set the plate of food beside Ron and stood up, settling herself behind him.  Absently she brushed his hands away and began to massage his neck.  "How can you do it?  How is it you're so calm?" Ron asked as he closed his eyes in relief.  Already the pressure behind his forehead was beginning to abate.  She was remarkably good at this.  

"I'm not," Hermione said simply.  Ron frowned, but knew she couldn't see his expression.  "I want to scream and yell and hex Percy into tomorrow.  I want to rush the Ministry and campaign the Daily Prophet and figure out a way to force Dumbledore to rescue him," Hermione said.  Ron couldn't help but smile.  Hermione was perfectly capable of trying to do all of those things.  Of that he had no doubt.  

"It makes me **sick to think what they're doing to Harry," Hermione continued.  "It's disgusting, it's awful, and it makes me ashamed to be a part of the wizarding community that's doing it.  Even Muggles are better.  They at least try to protect children from abuse and criminals at least have a trial before imprisonment.  Poor Harry's had to live with abusive relatives, and you know what?  All I can think of is…" Hermione paused for a moment, her hands retreating from Ron's neck.  He realized he could tell from her breathing pattern that she was trying not to cry.  **

"Hermione?" Ron asked, moving to turn around and face her.  She placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him still.  _She doesn't want you to see her crying, Ron realized.  He sat back down._

"How could Dumbledore not know?  About the Dursleys, I mean.  And for that matter, if Dumbledore knew Harry was in enough danger to need a portkey, why even keep him here at all?" Hermione asked.  The question stunned Ron.  He hadn't thought about it that way.  

"You mean…?" Ron began, not sure he even wanted to say it.  

"Remus knew the Ministry might come for Harry, therefore also putting Sirius in danger.  That's why Dumbledore gave them both portkeys.  If he **knew this, why keep them here at all?  Why not stay at the Shrieking Shack, or someplace hidden?  Madam Pomfrey and Snape could still visit Harry, and he would be safe from the Ministry," Hermione said, her voice quivering with emotion.  Ron closed his eyes wearily.  Surely the ever knowing, although a bit squirrelly, Headmaster wouldn't have done that on purpose, except…**

"The talk," Ron said.  He now did turn to look at Hermione's tear streaked face.  "On Harry's birthday.  Remember?  Harry was pretty somber after his private talk with Dumbledore, and he's been obsessed with reading all he could about becoming an Animagus ever since…" Ron said.  Hermione closed her eyes, wiping the tears away distractedly.  

"So all that time, you think Harry thought it was a real possibility he would end up in Azkaban?" Hermione asked, her voice shocked.  Ron nodded.  

"You know what this means, right?" Ron asked, amazed at the hope that suddenly rose in his heart.  _Where on earth is this coming from?  _

"What?" Hermione asked, but her lips were already twitching in the beginnings of an answering grin.  

"It means he hasn't given up.  He thought this might happen, and he even planned for it.  Sirius survived for years by using his animagus powers to buffer the effects of the Dementors.  Harry may not have that kind of time… but he's got more than I thought!" he said and stood up, adrenaline renewing his sense of determination to help Harry.  She stood as well, brushing off her pants vigorously.  

"I still hate him," Hermione said suddenly.  Ron stopped short.  He knew who she was talking about.  He nodded.

"I do too.  But look at the information he's provided.  As high up as dad is in the Ministry compared to Percy, **he is the one who gets to know all the details.  If he wasn't helping us, I don't know what kind of chances Harry would have," Ron painfully admitted.  _So, I won't say anything too awful.   I'll just deal with him like it was any other time he'd been a prat… Ron stopped that thought with a snort, recognizing the irony in it.  __Ah well.  Hang in there, Harry.  We'll get you out.  I promise._**

************************************************************

The sound of the water tapping against wood was the first thing Harry became aware of as he came awake.  He was soaking wet and his neck was aching painfully.  Nausea welled up within him as nerve endings seemed to be screaming in protest.  _Why do I hurt like this?  What's wrong? What happened? Harry wondered, having a difficult time collecting his thoughts.  _

Everything felt sluggish and heavy, and Harry realized that he was bound to a hard wooden bench.  And if he hadn't been, he realized he wouldn't be able to sit up at all.  A sense of vertigo suffused his senses, making it difficult to even tell which way was up.  In fact…  _If it weren't for these straps, I'd be on the floor.  Of course, lying down didn't sound like a bad idea.  _

Harry struggled to open his eyelids and lifted his head.  He must have been sitting with his chin on his chest.  His eyes felt puffy and stung as he blinked to try to clear them.  Frowning, he realized everything in front of him seemed blurry, but he could feel his glasses on his nose.  He became conscious of a slow drizzle soaking his lenses, more like a mist than rain, making everything before him unclear.  

Forcing his eyes to focus through the blurs, Harry realized he was in a boat.  The faint sense of vertigo he felt was it being gently rocked with the larger waves.  Fog hung over the water, and Harry realized he didn't where he was, but he knew where he was going.  Actually, maybe not.  After all, he didn't even know where Azkaban **was.  **

In the grayish white tendrils of mist, Harry could see nothing around him but the murky greenish black sea.  The misty rain was beginning to turn into a more solid drizzle, the drops pattering against the water below like tiny pebbles against glass.   That, and the gentle hissing of occasional swells foaming white around him were all the sounds that accompanied him.  His skin felt coated with dried sweat, rain and salt from the sea.  _Am I close to shore?  How long was I out?  If I could find a way to get out of the straps, could I swim?  Harry tried to force his brain to think.  He was freezing cold, his robes…  __I wasn't wearing robes earlier… soaked through.  _

_I'm going to Azkaban, he thought, trying to calm the growing panic.  __I had to try.  I had to take the chance.  Harry closed his eyes for a moment.  It had been a useless gesture.  It hadn't done anyone any good.  __Sirius.  I had to try, Sirius, Harry thought, and opened his eyes.  __Don't panic.  You're not there yet.  Think.  Turning to look around him, Harry realized that he was alone in the boat.  It moved forward silently, propelled magically.  There were no landmarks, nothing visible in front or behind him.  In the grayness, Harry closed his eyes for a moment, and unbidden a memory came to mind...  _

In the boats, gathered with the rest of the frightened, intimidated, excited first years.  He remembered when Hogwarts finally came into view… How enormous, how impossible and yet also how *real* it felt, this new life he'd stumbled into and the possibilities it had opened up…  For friendship, for freedom, to learn, to grow, to love and be loved in return...  The emotions that rolled to the surface were nearly more than Harry could stand.  He hurt, and he was so tired, and sick of how his scar burned.  He hated the permanent tremors in his body, and now it seemed like it almost wasn't even his own, as if he were trying to move in molasses.  

_The portkey, Harry thought wildly.  __Do I still have the portkey?  I could try to use it before…  Before I get there.  He tried to move, to reach his fingers into his pocket and feel if the handkerchief was still there.  __It didn't work, but it's not too late, he thought a bit wildly as he tried to move his hands even a little.  His shoulders were bunched painfully behind him and he tried to wiggle his wrists even a little within the leather straps that magically trapped him to the wooden bench, a painful reminder of the Interrogation Chair.  Harry's stomach lurched at the thought and he realized…  __They gave me Veritaserum.   That's why I feel like this, Harry thought and was amazed to feel a little better.  Hopefully this feeling would pass.  This wasn't another step downward.  _

_This isn't working.  I can't move even a little, Harry realized with growing frustration.  The more he struggled against the binding, the tighter it became.  It had also begun to sting a bit.  Squinting to focus, he realized his wrists were bleeding now, and the salt of the sea air was making them burn irritatingly.  __Even if I have the portkey, I can't reach it.  It's in my pocket, and no amount of contortions is going to get there.  Focus, Harry, focus, he thought, trying to keep his mind from wandering.  It seemed so easy for his thoughts to just drift away, and he found it difficult to concentrate.  __Is this another side effect? He wondered.  _

_What if I try to capsize the boat?  Will the straps release automatically?  Harry tried to think of any and every angle.  He didn't want to think of it as hopeless, but that was what was rising up inside him.  __Harry, get a hold of yourself.  You have no idea where you are.  You have no clue where the shore is.  **If the straps let go, and you manage to capsize the boat, how long will you even be able to swim?  Harry doubted he could even walk at the moment.  **_

_Would you do it again?  Do you regret it? Harry's mind questioned him like a third person, forcing him to face what he'd done.  __Yes, Harry realized as he relaxed his hands.  Thankfully, the moment he quit struggling, the straps ceased to be so constricting.  __Well, that's something.  No.  I did it for Sirius, and because we can't do this alone.  It's what Dumbledore didn't say.  That he can't stave off Voldemort forever alone.  That I can't, either.  We need help. And I need a family.   A real family.  _

Harry listened to the water tapping and again his mind drifted into memories.  _Try to concentrate, Harry…  Hagrid had come to get him, and given him Hedwig.  He'd already met Ron, and wasn't quite sure yet what to make of Hermione.  She **had tried to help Neville find his frog after all…  They'd stepped into the boats, not propelled by engine or man, but by magic.  **_

He'd made a decision that summer that would irrevocably change his life.  Choose between trying to be normal, or embracing a world they said he belonged in, but knew nothing about.  But he'd known then the truth, and each year since it had gotten more painfully obvious.  Though the Dursleys were blood relatives, they would **never be family.  _And  I can't go back to the Dursleys, and the Weasleys aren't mine to keep.  Sirius and Remus…  They're all I have, and they're just as lost as I am.  I love Ron and Hermione.  They're more than best friends…  They're…  We work.  It's beyond friendship, and beyond blood.  And I'd adopt Ron's mum in a heartbeat.  But…  I'm greedy.  I wanted something more.  Guilty as charged.  Harry had to force himself from shrugging at his own wandering thoughts, remembering the discomfort of the bindings._**

The sounds around him began to change, and Harry abruptly recognized the sound of a seagull.  He'd heard them on the telly, although he didn't think he'd ever seen one.  _Am I getting closer to land?  What happens now?  Harry's heart began to pound in his ears again as fear rose back up to the surface, no longer distracted by his thoughts.  __You've studied for days to become an Animagus, Harry.  You can do this.  Should I try it right now?  Do people become Animagus sea creatures?  Perhaps, he thought, __I should try now.  Just in case.  _

And as Harry closed his eyes, allowing the words from the book to float up into his mind, the instructions easy to understand but difficult to really **feel, a chill… different from the cold of the sea...  began to infuse his senses.  It was a chill that rose from the inside, and the mist began to clear a few feet further ahead. Black robed figures filled his vision even as the screams filled his mind.  **

There was no longer any time for anything as the pleasant hiss of the sea transitioned into wet, rattling breaths.  He was on the edge of a swirling precipice of pain, loss, guilt, terror, and loneliness, the cries of the dead clawing into his consciousness.  Harry fought, even as he knew how useless it was without his wand.  Without his Patronus.  The blackness  swallowed him up and he fell, not feeling the ice cold, decayed hands against his skin as he was picked up, his limp form cradled against a bony chest as he was carried inside.  To Azkaban.

**TBC…**

Colleen:  Yes it has.  Hmmm.  More to come on that front.  

FairyTale: Thanks!  Actually, it's been serendipity.  I never expected to be able to write Arthur and Percy like I have.  They aren't too fleshed out in the books, but they grew on me.  I'm glad you like them as well.

Gracie:  I'm glad you liked Sirius.  I wanted to portray the side of him that everyone fears.  He's so blustery (not a word, I'm sure, but I'm using it anyway) that it's hard to believe people didn't see through it.  I knew that what he showed on Halloween was a different side… poor Ron saw it, and Harry and Hermione got a little glimpse, but even that was tempered by Sirius' feelings of guilt.  I suspect when push comes to shove, he's one scary guy.

Elektra (cool name!  You're going to be in a movie soon!  g):  blushes happily  Perhaps.  Once I duck the 'Kill Fudge' riot outside my door. Wow, I'm glad I've kept you on the edge of your seat.  I'm aware how angsty it seems, so have been really trying to strive to find that balance that makes you still appreciate the strength of the characters. After all, that's what makes them so special.  Even in the midst of all that darkness, there's still so much light.  8-)  Thanks for putting me on your favorites!  I'll definitely keep writing.

Moonlight Yellow:  Wow, what an awesome review.  Hmmm.  Hadn't considered that one for Crookshanks…  Mrs. Norris, on the other hand…  Thanks!  I try.  I agree about Sirius.  Yes, yes, you're not the only one to catch that.  My bad on the gillyweed…  I really did mean to say gillywater, but it just didn't look right at the time, and now I know why.  20 Brownie Points for you!!!  Consider it gillywater, would you?  Although it sure would have altered the story a bit had Percy drunk it…  Hmmm…  Pot… meet kettle.  Draco?  8-)  I loved your tag quote at the bottom.  Very nice.

Sparks, Phoenix, Practical Magic (great movie), Eva Phoenix Potter (Thank you! Hehehehe… I am evil, aren't I?), Teigra (Never liked them myself), sk8reagle, Moonlight Yellow (ah, more questions about the portkey.  You'll see… hehehehe), LittleEar BigEar's sis, Tempest Princess (Yes he has, hasn't he?), coconut-ice agent h/h (g), SpiderGirl05 (Wow.  Now that's a compliment and a half.  Thanks!), ratgirl, WeasleyTwinsLover1112, Hyper Princess, SparklyPrincess (Thank you!), Sherlock  2k, Lothey (Deep breaths, there…), Anonymous, Arien S G, Blunder, summersun, chobitmaden (hehehehehehe…. Flatterer…..giggles):  Well, lots of Crookshanks questions and comments.  I'm glad you liked Sirius, and hate Fudge.  For all of you who noticed, ahem yes, yes, I put gillyweed instead of gillywater.  Brownie Points for all of you!  Thanks a million for all your kind comments.  I love to hear from you!

PurePsychicEspeon:  Wow.  Thank you.  I'm having my own withdrawals to the HP series.  The promises they make… sigh  See what they drive a person to do?  Write their own version!  Thanks!  Not familiar with the Gohan reference, but that's okay.  I get the spirit of it.  Thank you!  I agree.  It's funny to try to measure just what part Dumbledore plays in Harry's trauma, isn't it?  He seems all knowing, and yet so much happens to Harry that you just don't want to believe he'd willingly let happen.  I've been working to try to capture that a little more clearly.  Remember how poorly the school reacted to Harry's being a Parseltongue.  They're a treacherous lot.  Thank your cousin for referring you, please.  I'm thrilled you like it and hope to hear more. 

Tanya:  Thank you very much.  I asked my beta reader a while ago if she thought I was dragging, because I was definitely accused of that.  It's nice to hear the flip side.  I've had an idea where I want to go with story since the beginning, but wanted to take my time getting to it.  As by now I'm sure you can see, the plot's actually pretty fast moving.  I knew once I jumped completely into it, it would go too fast, and then how else would I get my HP fix?  8-)  I'm really glad you liked the Percy/Arthur interactions.  I'm rather fond of them myself.  I'm glad you like it.  Thank you!


	25. Plans and Explanations

Disclaimer:  HP… still not mine.  

Author's Note:  I'm going to voice here my disappointment in ff.net for the unannounced censorship that has occurred.  Although I understand the liability aspect, notice would have been appreciated.  Also, perhaps a sub-site with required registration would allow those authors to continue posting.  I've found many quality NC-17 stories with amazing plots done by gifted authors.  I'm sad to see that I no longer have one comprehensive site (ff.net has definitely held the majority of my favorite fics) to peruse.  I do understand the concern… clicking a button to say you're 17 can be done by anyone, and Harry Potter was first and foremost a children's story…  But how many of you reading this now are children?  You don't need to reply, I'm just throwing my question out into the Great Void.  Ah well, change happens, and not all of it is better.  Thanks for reading my rant, and as always, please read and review.  

-Bored Beyond Belief

**Chapter 25**

_I can't believe I'm doing this.  Yes, yes, I know this is becoming a mantra of mine, but nonetheless...  I've spent the last half hour floating in a boat with Albus Dumbledore heading to Azkaban, hidden underneath Harry Potter's invisibility cloak, seriously questioning my sanity.  I don't even *like* the boy.  Stupid, stupid Gryffindor refused to use his portkey in order to try to prove Voldemort's return and his godfather's innocence.  Quintessential Gryffindor.  __Truly.  _

I think my beloved Headmaster has finally cracked.  The pressure's gotten to him.  Too many chess games in his head and not enough players.  Bats and belfries.  Missing screws.  Lights on and no one home.  So why, you may ask, am I here?  Sitting in a miserable wooden boat going to the one place I vowed *never again* in my lifetime to visit?  

Because he asked it of me.  

"You think too loud," Dumbledore says quietly underneath his breath.  

"What do you hope to accomplish?  Crouch had the right of it.  Switch us and be done," I say.  What Crouch did to free his son was so simple it was brilliant.  All you needed handy was a dying mother willing to trade places with her imprisoned son.  As I do not qualify as a dying mother, or dying at all, I have to refrain from hitting myself in the forehead even as the words leave my mouth.  _Great Merlin.__  Did I just say that?  The last time I visited that hellhole I vowed to swallow my tongue first rather than go back.  __And that was two weeks.  Was there something in that Pepper Up Potion he insisted I take before coming here?  _

"You would fare no better than he, my friend, and *that* is not an option," he says softly.  As odd as it is to admit, I'm touched by his sentiment.  And grateful.  I'd rather not swallow my tongue, thank you very much.  

"I still wish you would have given them my wand and kept your own," I say.  One condition for anyone visiting Azkaban is to turn over your *own* wand beforehand.  As insurance.  Now granted, as evidenced by both Crouch and myself, there are ways around this, but why on earth Dumbledore gave up his own wand when he didn't need to…

"As proven by my latest chocolate frogs card,  I've discovered it pays to expect people to know more about me than they realistically should.  Besides, I don't need it," he replies, and shrugs.  I shake my head ruefully even as I suppress a smile.  In anyone else it would be bragging.  

The misty tendrils around us are swirling as we pass through.  I remember my time here too well.  The oppressive, ever present fog forever concealing the island; how the cold permeates everything.  Summertime never seems to reach Azkaban.  The rain doesn't cleanse here, either.  Here it feels as if it coats more than it cleans, as if the Dementors have corrupted the weather, sucking all cheerfulness and joy out of every aspect of life here so completely that even the birds sound sorrowful.  

"I'm still unclear what your big plan is to smuggle me past the Dementors," I say, more to pass the time.  Actually, I'm a bit unclear on the ***entire* big plan, but don't say this aloud.  **

Damned ancient spells…  Dug up in some buried text which hasn't been used in centuries…. Generally there's a *reason* for this.  I trust Albus implicitly of course.   _Why me?  But there's got to be more to it than the fact I'm likely a world record holder for being held under the Cruciatus Curse the longest without losing my mind.  __But who's counting?  True, I'm probably more capable of surviving whatever Dark Magic flows through Potter's veins when his bond with Voldemort is active than anyone else, but...  _

Well, that's actually a bit of irony now, isn't it?  Of all the people in Potter's life, *I* am the one that Albus thinks will be most able to help Potter survive Azkaban.  _Lucky me.  Through all my questions, complaints, skepticism and just plain annoyance Albus just twitches his lips upward enigmatically.  It's a damned annoying trait if you ask me.  But no one does.  _

I turn my attention back to the glaring hole I see in Albus' current plan to get me on to the island.  Dementors, being sightless, *sense* in a way that we do not.  Crouch was able to smuggle his wife through, no doubt in part because she was already dying.  I, on the other hand, am in fine health and am not looking forward to being sensed as an unauthorized, invisible addition to Albus' entourage of one.  

"Just stand close to me and you'll be fine," Albus says quietly.  His voice sounds oddly flat, deadened by the fog around us.  I've noticed the boat isn't rocking as much as it had earlier, and the waves around us are smaller and more choppy.  I suspect we'll be there soon.  

I appreciate him trying to keep my spirits up.  In truth, since I found him in my office, I've been shaken by his behavior.  He's always seemed wise, but now he seems so sad and solemn, although he hides it well.  But I'm trained to notice things.  The slouch of his shoulders is more pronounced, as if the burden he carries is beginning to get too heavy.  His face, already so etched with life, seems fatigued, his eyes less animated.  I recognize the symptoms, or at least think I do.  Guilt.

"Stand by you?  That's your plan?" I ask, realizing when my mind has replayed the sentence the second time around how inane it sounds.  "That's how you intend to conceal me?" I ask dumbly.  Albus nods, a gentle smile playing on his lips.  

"Of course," he replies.  I wait for elaboration.  None comes.  

"Do you have some sort of cloaking spell in mind?" I ask after a pause.  He shakes his head.  "Sensory distraction?"  I try again.  Another shake.  "Sensory transfiguration?" I'm grasping now.  Another shake.  

"No.  Just stand close," he replies.  I must admit, my confidence is beginning to falter here.  

"And this will work…" I prompt.  

"Because they'll think it's all me," he says.  

"But it will be twice as much life energy… possibly more.  Who knows what they sense when they see you anyway," I say.  

"Precisely," he answers patiently, as if I were a particularly slow child who's just come across the proper answer to a charms question.  _Precisely?  _

"And this will work why?" I prompt.  

"Because I'm me," he says, and now I do snort.  

"Although there's no doubt you are a remarkable wizard… Just what makes you think that that will be enough?"  I ask, unable to believe I'm bantering even as a chill begins to settle on my soul that has *nothing* to do with the cold weather.  

"There are occasional… perks to being me.  If I have a brighter life essence than many, who's going to refute it?  Dementors do not live in this world as you and I do, but they are still aware of the key players in it.  They know who Voldemort is, and they most certainly know who *I* am.  Trust me, Severus.  Just… don't make too much noise trying to get out of the boat, will you?" he asks me.  I swallow my retort as the shoreline slowly appears before us.  

There are no Dementors present. They save that welcoming committee for new arrivals.  In fact, there won't be anyone present for the length of our visit.  However, even the Dementors' distant presence echoes through my spine, hollowing out my nerves. They will remain on the other side of the island for the duration of Dumbledore's visit.  

We already know exactly where Potter is.  The Azkaban caretakers who live on the mainland provided us with a map of his location.  They only come to Azkaban once a week.  Food and water are provided by house elves who live deep below ground in separate quarters, protected from the Dementors by distance.  

The boat runs aground, the wood scraping against the worn, rocky shore, and I scramble as quietly as possible to step out, grateful that Albus is taking his time for my sake.  I'm also grateful that he's managed to keep me distracted for as long as he has.  I suspect that the regrets I carry with me are far more of a torment than anything the other captured Death Eaters, my former companions, face on a daily basis.  Sometimes there are advantages to being stupid, self absorbed and shallow.  _Ah well.  _

I follow behind Albus silently as he steps confidently inside the walls that hold the most feared villains of our time… _and a fifteen year old innocent boy.  He knows the way.  He's been here before.  __To visit me.  My legs are trembling painfully, as I'm forced to crouch down so that the invisibility cloak conceals me completely.  Just in case.  Even though James Potter was a tall man, I am as well and would rather not chance having something peek through.  As I try to keep my attention *only* focused on the man before me, my senses take in the tactile memories of this place.  _

Weathered stone walls held by crumbling mortar, rusted metal bars on the windows and discolored metal doors.  The worn rock floors are slippery with moisture, and the stench of dead fish and mildew fills the air.  I'm shaking, I realize, and take a trembling breath to try to calm my nerves.  This is the hard part.  _Once the spell is done…  I stop myself from pursuing that thought as Albus stops before a door.  It begins to slowly open of its own accord.  We're there.  I hold my breath, waiting to see how bad it is.  I have so little hope for him.  I remember all too clearly what effects the Dementors had on Potter before the dreams of this summer.  _

I hear Albus gasp as he rushes through the door, scooping Potter's limp body from the floor and cradling it close while carrying him to the thin mattress in the corner of the tiny 10x10 cell.  His limbs dangle limply, and the uneaten meals carefully placed in the corner, enough for two days, are testimony to what has occurred.  Potter hasn't even been conscious since he arrived.  He hasn't moved since the Dementors threw him in this cell.

"Severus," Albus says, his voice tight.  I reach into my robes, the invisibility cloak tossed aside now that we're safely in Potter's cell.  I pull out the satchel full of potions I have brewed for the last two days.  Meal supplements, Pepper Up, extracts, replenishers, rehydrators and also an ample supply of chocolate, among other things.  I unwrap a piece and quickly hand it to Albus.  Potter's robes are soaked and icy cold.  Even from this distance I see how blue his lips are.  As Albus coaxes a chunk of chocolate into Potter's slack mouth, I mutter drying and heating charms on his robe and mattress.  He remains deathly still.  I can't even see the rise and fall of his chest.  

"Harry?" Albus says tenderly.  The grief in his voice is very real.  I've known how much he cares for Harry, but to see him holding him… like a grandfather, almost seems too personal.  I wish I didn't have to witness this.  "Harry?  Can you hear me?  Come on, Harry.  It's time to wake up," Albus says, and I realize he's rocking him gently.  The chocolate has melted in Harry's mouth, *Potter*, some of it dribbling down his chin.  I see his throat work abruptly.  Good sign.

"Albus," I say, and immediately set to work mixing up a cocktail for the occasion.  If he can swallow, I can help.  _Hmmm.  Supplement, nutrient, calming potion, and some Pepper Up for kicks.  I hand Albus the goblet and watch as he holds it gently to Potter's lips. More liquid runs out the corners of his mouth, underneath his chin, to dampen his robes once again.  But I see Potter's throat move faintly.  At least a little bit has gotten into him. _

"Harry?  Open your eyes, child.  It's time to wake up," Albus says quietly.  I realize that no steam comes out of Potter's ears from the Pepper Up.  My own throat constricts.  That means he is *very* close to death.  I watch as one of Potter's fingers, pale against his black robes, begins to twitch.  

"Albus, his hand," I say, and look at the food Harry's  been given.  Broth and water.  _No special attention here for The Boy Who Lived.  I'd thought of trying to get him to eat before we leave, but my potions will help more.  We need him conscious to perform the spell, and it will take a while before I'm strong enough within the bond to insure he's eating consistently.    _

My attention turns back to Albus as he holds the boy close to his chest, using his voice to try to coax Potter back to consciousness.  It's more of a plea than a command, with hope intertwined.  _Be sane, be whole, be Harry, his voice begs silently.  He cannot be, I know, and I believe Albus knows this too.  Not with what the Dementors force him to face.  _

His fingers curl and I realize I see Potter's jaw begin to tense.  Relief floods me as I see animation on his face once again.  In truth, he looks more dead than alive.  His tremors begin to return, and I suppress the morbid glee of realizing that if his *condition* remains, he isn't too far gone… yet.  His body still struggles if the tremors persist.  It is in the stillness that the fight is lost, for the body is no longer trying.  

"Harry, open your eyes.  It's Albus Dumbledore, and I really need to talk to you," he says, his tone of voice warm and loving.  A gasp of air startles me as Potter's back arches momentarily, a spasm of some sort.  He struggles against Albus, then stills.  Albus continues to speak soft words, to try to coax him from whatever dark place he's currently residing in.  "Harry, wake up.  It's time to wake up now," he says repeatedly, and abruptly I feel pinned like a butterfly on display in a collector's case by two nearly luminescent green eyes fluttering open.  

Although he looks my direction, his eyes don't focus on me.  _Those are **not the eyes of a fifteen year old boy.  Indeed, they remind me of Black during his darker melancholy moments.  Only Potter's eyes hold no hope or peace, no humor, no curiosity.  Only pain remains, and a piercing quality that reminds me too much of Albus himself.  He frowns as I see him struggle to focus.  **__Ah.  Where are his glasses?  I find them near where we found him and gently set them on Potter's face.  Albus smiles at me gratefully.  I take the goblet and refill it.  He needs **much more than one cup.  Albus once again puts the drink to Potter's lips, only this time he accepts it, closing his eyes as he swallows.  Again, no steam.  **_

"That's it, Harry.  That's it.  There.  That should help.  Can you hear me, Harry?  Do you know who I am?" Albus asks gently, as if speaking to a small child.  The look on his face is painful to see.  Hope, fear, guilt, love, pain, concern…  I realize I'm holding my breath as I wait for a response, anything, from Potter.  He's awake, which is better than I feared.  But what of his sanity?  His eyes begin to focus on Albus' voice, his face flickering with so many frowns and grimaces that I start to wonder if he's developed a nervous twitch.  

His eyes begin to look around him, as if seeing his surroundings for the first time.  I can see him taking note of the details of his cell.  His eyes flicker to me, and dismiss me just as easily.  I'm chilled by the passing glance.  _Okay.  He's downright creepy.  It's only once his eyes get back to Albus that he truly focuses.  They stare at each other for a moment.  Albus smiles gently and takes Potter's limp hand in his.  _

"I've got you.  That's right, Harry.  I'm so sorry it took me so long to get here," he says.  I see Harry's fingers curl weakly against his hand, and Albus breaks into a bright smile.  "Can you drink some more potion?  You need your strength," he says.  Potter nods weakly, and I'm shocked.  He's awake, he's aware.  Color me impressed.  Albus tips the cup until it is completely drained.  No steam.  I run my hand through my hair in agitation.  He's not in good shape.  

"Harry, we've broken Percy's memory spells.  We have a scroll of what actually occurred and know they gave you Veritaserum.  We've got some potions that should help counteract some of the effects, but I need to know how you feel.  I know it's a foolish question, but indulge me," he says gently.  Potter's face remains passive as he seems to take assessment of himself.  

"It still burns," he rasps, his voice flat.  "But it burns cold now, in my blood.  I…  The rest is as it was, only more so," he says.  Short and to the point.  Tremors, chills, scar pains, tingling nerves, the beginnings of partially obscured vision, muscle spasms, stomach pain from newly developed ulcers that appear as quickly as they're healed.  The list goes on…  I sigh.  He's lucky he lasted two days.  

I hand Albus another goblet that should neutralize any trace amounts of Veritaserum in his blood.  Potter drinks it without grimacing, but I know the taste is bitter and highly unpleasant.  After a moment, he closes his eyes briefly, the faintest flicker of relief, before nodding.  "That's helped," he says, his voice more air than sound.  His eyes keep capturing my attention.  His focus is distant, although I can tell he sees Albus just fine.  It's as if he's looking from the bottom of a deep pit.  Perhaps he is.  

I watch Potter closely.  _Did he know?  When he took this risk and faced the threat of Veritaserum, did he know what it could do?  Did Albus tell him?  __A *magical* lobotomy.  Is he damaged?  Watching him now, as flat emotionally as he is… I still see traces of *that insolent boy*.  Concern for others, empathy, self-insight, creativity, initiative, autonomy, abstract reasoning, judgment, foresight, will-power, determination, concentration…  These are all destroyed in an overdose.  Considering they gave this frail boy in a child's body an adult dosage, I can only marvel at his healing capacity.  Either that, or a metabolism most witches would die for.  I, for one, would have *sworn* we'd find scrambled eggs instead of a mind._

"Harry, I'm afraid I can't get you released yet," Albus says.  Potter's eyes scan Albus' face, but there is no flicker of emotion.  No disappointment or fear.  I frown.  

"So the Portkey won't work then?  I still have it," Potter says faintly, his one hand weakly reaching inside his robes for a handkerchief.  Dumbledore shakes his head, closing his eyes for a moment, but not before I see them sparkle unnaturally.  _Look away.  I don't want to see this.  But I don't.  I watch as Albus takes Potter's hand and guides it back to his pocket.  _

"Hold onto it.  Wards surround Azkaban, but if you're outside them, or if they should go down for any reason, it will work," Albus says.  Potter nods in acceptance.  He has to know he won't survive more than another couple of days.  Does he want to die?  "But there is something that will keep you alive until I can get you released," Albus says.  Potter doesn't seem to care.  Albus hesitates for a moment, frowning thoughtfully.  "Harry…  do you expect to live?" he asks after a moment.  Potter shakes his head, his eyes still the same, fathomless green.  

"No, Headmaster.  I don't," he replies softly.  _Fifteen.__  Merlin.  _

"Harry, although you and I both discussed the possibility of this day, I did not mention that I had a backup plan for *this* as well," Albus said.  Harry frowns faintly.  _Finally.  __At least a little animation.  "In the instance where I could not get you immediately released from Azkaban, because Fudge is too far gone and I am forced to get him removed, I have spoken with Severus and he has agreed to help me do this," Albus said, his eyes sliding gratefully to me.  Why did I agree to do this again?  _

***********************************************************************

"Do what, sir?" Harry asked wearily.  The memories and pain had become more of a swirling vortex, still circling in the distance, but not with Harry *in* them.  As the screams continued to fade, more and more things came in to focus.  _This is my cell.  Faint cries promised to swoop down on him the moment the Dementors returned, but for now…  __Headmaster Dumbledore has come.  His wrinkled hands were warm to the touch as his fingers gently pressed against Harry's hands.  __His skin seems so thin and fragile, Harry marveled distractedly, __yet he's considered one of the strongest wizards alive.  The black figure shifted to hand Dumbledore another goblet of potions, but Harry forced his eyes to remain only on the Headmaster.  __As long as you're here, I'm not reliving anything.  With Snape, however, the same cannot be said.  _

"I know that although you've been studying to become an Animagus, you have not been in any condition to try it," Dumbledore said.  Harry nodded and noticed the brief look of surprise on Snape's face before it was gone.  Dumbledore coaxed even more potion into him.  Harry tried to swallow as much as he could, but in truth he'd already drunk too much.  His stomach rolled in protest.  Harry closed his eyes and felt himself begin to drift away as the heating charms on the robes and mattress finally began to take effect.  

"Harry, wake up now.  I know you're unwell, but I need you here with me.  You're a bit green… Severus?" Dumbledore prompted.  Harry felt himself lifted up to be in more of a sitting position.  Again a goblet was at his lips.  He was so tired that he just wanted to drift away, and each distraction from that was a jarring and painful reminder he was still awake.  But Harry swallowed anyway, more out of habit than anything else.  Immediately, his stomach calmed.  Harry opened his eyes again.  Dumbledore's expression appeared to relax.  _Focus, Harry.  Wake up.  _

"Good boy.  As I was saying, although you've studied, you've been too weak to become an Animagus, and at this rate it would likely kill you to try.  This is where Professor Snape comes in," Dumbledore said.  Harry glanced over at his potions professor who remained at a distance, looking distinctly uncomfortable.  Harry thought sympathetically, _I wouldn't want to be here either.  _

"Yes, Headmaster?" Harry prompted, frowning at how his voice sounded.  In truth, he found it difficult to muster up enough energy to be curious, or care.  The only emotion that seemed to be filtering through the tremors at the moment was a small sense of comfort as the Headmaster held him.  Everything else was… a void.  

"There is an ancient spell called _Portus__ Animus.  It connects two people, creating a link or bond between them.  It's done by both potion and spell, and can be maintained even from great distances.  Professor Snape has agreed to perform this spell with you," Dumbledore said.  Harry frowned, the first stirrings of curiosity, however morbid.  _

"Why?" Harry asked, or rather, croaked.  He glanced at Snape who was still looking profoundly uncomfortable.  Then, after a moment's thought, Harry shook his head as if already dismissing the thought.  "What would happen if I died?" he asked.  Snape froze, and Dumbledore stiffened underneath Harry.  

"You won't.  Even if you're unconscious, the bond will enable Severus to manifest within your body to insure that you eat and drink.  We'll leave plenty of potions for you, and the robes and blanket will remain warm indefinitely," Dumbledore said confidently.  He paused for a moment, watching Harry intently, before continuing.  

"You're an Animagus?" Harry asked Snape directly.  His lips thinned as he shook his head.  

"No.  But I've taught how to become one.  Not everyone can *be* an Animagus, Potter," Snape said.  Harry was amazed at his professor's ability to be bitter even in the worst of circumstances.  It was oddly reassuring.  

"Because your father was an Animagus, I'm confident *you* will be able to become one as well," Dumbledore said soothingly.  Harry decided not to ask about the odds.  He was betting it would be more like 50/50.  "This spell is to insure that Professor Snape can help guide you step by step, providing his own energy as needed, to become an Animagus.  In this way you will be able to diffuse some of the effects of the Dementors."  Harry looked at Dumbledore suspiciously.  He may be exhausted and sick, but he wasn't slow...  at least not all the time.  Either that, or he was beginning to be able to read Dumbledore.  His reassuring smile looked a little too innocent.

"But what if I *do* die?" Harry persisted.  "Or I'm given the Kiss?"  

"Then Severus dies, too," Dumbledore replied solemnly.  "But you won't die.  That's what this spell is for, Harry."  

"Why would you do this?" Harry asked Snape directly.  If this had more to do with the debt he felt he owed Harry, Harry wanted no part of it.  "You don't even *like* me."  

"Believe it or not, this has little to do with you," Snape replied.  Harry shook his head.  He was too tired to feel much anger, but annoyance was beginning to seep through.  _Forget it, he thought.  _

"I have too many deaths on my conscience.  I'd rather not have yours," Harry replied softly.  Dumbledore remained silent, watching the two of them keenly.  Harry wondered, as he often had, how much of this Dumbledore had planned, or foreseen.  He wasn't bitter about it, but… sometimes he wondered if all his conversations fit right into the Headmaster's schemes.  

"Are you aware…" Snape began, his eyes narrow and dangerous, his face slack in its intensity.  Only the faint hint of color at the Potions Master's neck and pale cheeks indicated that he was truly angry.  It was enough.  "…of something called a Wizard's Debt?" Snape asked.  Harry nodded.  

"You owed one to my father for saving you from Professor Lupin," Harry replied calmly.  _Old news.  _

"Why do you think Pettigrew was sorted into Gryffindor?" Snape asked abruptly, throwing Harry off.  Harry frowned.  In truth, he'd wondered about that himself.  

"Why do you think he was loved and accepted by the *beloved* Marauders?  What do you think he was like?  *Why* would your parents consider him as a Secret Keeper if he lacked in such obvious moral fiber?" Snape asked fiercely.  Harry had spent nights trying to find a way to ask Sirius and Remus that very question, but hadn't found a way yet that didn't sound accusatory.  Harry shrugged.

"I don't know why," Harry replied honestly, sighing.  Although the pain from the Veritaserum had abated, the remaining fatigue and muscle spasms remained.  Even as Harry rested in Dumbledore's arms, wrapped with the blanket, he had to carefully position himself so his muscles didn't cramp.  At the moment, both calves were doing so, curling his toes impossibly.  He knew his undivided attention was expected, but felt the grey of unconsciousness beginning to cloud the sides of his vision.  He knew he wouldn't be able to stay awake much longer.  But this was the most he'd heard about *why*, so he willed it away as much as he could.  _Just do it and be done.  Harry ignored his inner voice.  _

"Do you consider Longbottom cowardly?" Snape asked.  Harry stared at the professor in surprise.  _Huh?  _

"No.  Of course not.  Just not… confident," Harry replied, his own accusation laced in his reply.  _And whose fault is his lack of confidence?  _

"Pettigrew was a lot like Longbottom is.  Simple, uncomplicated, insecure, but loyal and brave when need be," Snape said.  He was silent for a long time, his face unreadable as his eyes stopped focusing on Harry and instead seemed to see something in the distance, a memory.  He paled.  

"Severus," Dumbledore prodded gently.  Snape's eyes snapped back to Harry's face.  He seemed furious now, but oddly Harry could sense a lot of it wasn't necessarily directed at him.  Of course, his professor's wrath didn't make him quake in fear now as it had in the past.  _It's all about perspective, his mind chirped.  Harry idly wondered when his thoughts had started to speak without his permission.  _

"Why do you think Pettigrew revealed your parents?  Do you think he was jealous of them?  That he didn't love them?" Snape asked.  It was odd to hear the word *love* out of Snape's mouth.  Harry shrugged, then, seeing that Snape expected an answer, nodded.  The man he'd met in the Shrieking Shack and in the graveyard had been so… pathetic and weak.  He couldn't imagine what his parents, Sirius and Remus had seen in him.  

"I don't know," Harry croaked.  Dumbledore gave Harry another sip of Snape's potion.  Some of the gray left his vision and Snape's face swam into better focus.  _Good.  He wanted to remember this conversation.  _

"What does it take to make a man betray his best friends and their child?  He's Gryffindor, so he's known for at least a modicum of dumb courage.  What would Voldemort bribe him with?  Wealth?  Power?  Fame?  What did it take to make him reveal them?" Snape asked.  Harry frowned.  

"I don't know.  I've wanted to know.  What?  What did it take, Professor?" Harry asked, his direct question sounding like an accusation.  Snape flinched.  

"Voldemort didn't get the information voluntarily.  He broke Peter Pettigrew.  That's what you've met, Potter.  A broken man.  Voldemort used my potions to break him," Snape said.  Harry froze, a lump in his throat and a scream of his own threatening his thoughts.  Thankfully, he didn't utter a sound.  Instead, he stared at Snape in renewed horror.  

"Where you there?" Harry asked.  _You monster.  Snape shook his head.  _

"If I'd known…  I'd have done something.  Voldemort asked for these potions months in advance.  I had no idea who they were for.  But I assure you… Pettigrew never stood a chance," Snape said.  Harry started to cough, his hands flying to his mouth.  Bile rose in his throat and with shocking ease Dumbledore adjusted Harry so that he was leaning off the bed and facing the tiny bowl that served as a latrine.  Harry vomited all of the potions they'd made him drink as Dumbledore held him, rubbing his back soothingly, saying gentle words.  Harry couldn't help the tears that slid down his face, but felt betrayed by them.  He hated for Snape to see his pain.  

"Shhh.  It's okay, Harry.  Severus, could you hand me the water?" Dumbledore asked.  When Harry's dry wretches finally ceased, Dumbledore eased him back onto the flimsy mattress.  He tenderly wrapped the thin blanket around Harry's shoulders, tucking it around him so that no square centimeter remained uncovered.  A cup of cold water was placed at Harry's lips, and he sipped gratefully, his body trembling horribly.  Harry turned his eyes back to Snape.  

"I've caused the death of the man I owed a Wizard's Debt to.  My death is not your responsibility, Potter, whereas your parents' death is mine," Snape said.  Harry stared at Snape for a long time, unable to say anything.  _What is there to say?  Snape watched Harry closely, his arms wrapped around his chest defensively, as if the chill of Azkaban affected him deeply as well.  __That's why you treated me so badly.  'Here is the child whose parents you killed.  __Let's teach him* potions*, shall we?'  How ironic.    _

"Since we're revealing all the skeletons in the closet," Snape asked, startling both Harry and Dumbledore, "I have a question for you, Potter.  Why do *you* trust me?  You know I'm a Death Eater, yet you still take any potion I give you.  Why?  I've never given you any reason to trust me," Snape finished.  His face looked truly bewildered, as if he'd wondered this question for a long time and finally decided to ask it.  Harry realized that that was the most unguarded he'd ever seen the Potions Master.  He almost didn't recognize him.

"Because I've seen you," Harry replied.  Snape stilled, a slight frown on his face.  "Just last week I saw you tell Voldemort you hadn't seen me since the end of school.  Why is he so fond of the Cruciatus Curse?" Harry asked.  Snape took a couple of steps back, his eyes sliding to Dumbledore.  

"*That* is why you didn't want me to read Potter's journal.  Because I'm in there," Snape stated, his eyes wide in horror.  "You've seen me?  You've seen…" Snape said, his head snapping from Harry to Dumbledore and back again, then closed his mouth abruptly.  Harry nodded.  Snape ran a trembling hand through his hair, raking it back distractedly.  Closing his eyes, he visibly calmed himself.  

_He's humiliated, Harry realized.  __He's ashamed of what Dumbledore's read that he's had to do.  And of course, that's why Dumbledore didn't tell him.  Harry watched as Snape pulled his shell protectively around himself again, the face returning to impassiveness, only the eyes revealing anything.  It was the only part of himself that Snape didn't seem to have complete control over.  _

"Professor Snape has also perfected barriers so that… should he have to see Voldemort again and he… uses the Cruciatus Curse, it will not rebound onto you," Dumbledore said.  His eyes looked tired.  Harry could see the pain in them now.  _He hates that Snape has to do this.  He hates that he had to ask it of him.  And I remember when he did… Right after the Third Task.  _

_ "So are you going to do the spell or not, Potter?" Snape asked, his voice oddly hollow.  Harry hesitated.  _

"How does this work?" Harry asked, forcing his mind to focus.  

"Severus will be the one to initiate contact.  He might not always be successful, but I think as your bond solidifies, you'll have an easier time.  You won't be able to entirely escape what the Dementors do, but he will be able to buffer it enough to work with you.  Two hours a day until you become an Animagus.  Any more could hurt Professor Snape," Dumbledore said, chafing Harry's hands as if to try to warm them up.  Harry looked at his Headmaster and sighed.  

"I know that at mealtime the Dementors leave.  Considering how we found you, I'll assume you'll be unconscious.  Professor Snape will check in, and if you haven't eaten, he'll inhabit your body and do it for you.  He can only do this when you're unconscious and he cannot do it without your permission… but remember, his life will be bound to yours." Dumbledore continued.  "Will you do it?" Dumbledore asked, looking into Harry deeply enough to make him more uncomfortable than he already was.  His throat burned from the bile and potions and he knew his breath must be atrocious.  Dumbledore didn't appear to notice or mind.  Harry had finally managed to uncurl his cramping toes, but the tremors still remained, and as hard as Dumbledore tried to warm Harry's hands, the relief only lasted for seconds.    

As much as his stubbornness had forced him to want to refuse Snape's help, Harry knew in his heart that he was terrified of dying.  He hoped when he died he'd finally meet his parents, but wasn't so confident in an afterlife, or Heaven, or whatever.  The Dursleys had been religious, but only in such an appallingly hypocritical way that it had caused Harry to scoff at the mere concept of it.  They'd gone to church every Sunday until Harry was eight, but never took Harry because he was 'heathen'.  In their mind, his magic condemned him to hell, which, as Aunt Petunia had told him frequently, was where his parents were.  Harry preferred to reject any notion of an afterlife rather than contemplate his parents in hell.  Of course, meeting the ghosts at Hogwarts had changed his perception of an afterlife.  He preferred to think of his beliefs now as a _work in progress.  Harry nodded.  "Yes, I'll do it," he whispered.  _

Dumbledore relaxed and even began to smile.  "Excellent, my boy.  We'll get you out of here as soon as we can, of course, but now we've got a little more time.  I'm curious to see what kind of animal you'll become," Dumbledore said as Snape reached inside his robes and pulled out a tiny glass vial of cobalt blue liquid.  It looked a great deal like ink, only the consistency appeared much thicker.  "This spell hasn't been performed in centuries, so the extent of the bond will have to be explored by both of you.  Not much is documented, but what is has already been read by Professor Snape.  Remember that it is voluntary, and needs both of your cooperation.  Once you're freed, Harry, the spell can be reversed with no ill effects.  Now, take a big sip of this, hold my hand, and repeat what I say," Dumbledore instructed.  

Snape handed the vial to Harry, careful not to let his fingers touch him at all.  Harry took a swig of the vial.  It tasted as bad as it looked, and he wondered if his teeth and tongue were now blue.  _What kind of animal will I be?  It was the first nice idea Harry had heard in a long time.  He'd envied Sirius' ability to transform at will, and longed to be an unregistered Animagus himself.  It was a secret defense that Harry coveted.  To walk in public, even as a wanted man, unrecognized.  That kind of anonymity Harry definitely appreciated.  _

Harry placed his hand in Dumbledore's.  Dumbledore took Snape's hand in his other, serving as a link between them.  As he spoke the words of the spell, Harry and Snape repeated them, Snape's voice so much deeper and sonorous than Harry's scratchy whisper.  The air around them seemed to shimmer as Harry spoke, and his hand grew increasingly warm in Dumbledore's.  He felt a slight pressure building within his mind, like an idea he couldn't quite remember.  As Dumbledore silenced, Harry and Snape finished the spell.  His vision blurred for a moment, and he could have sworn he was looking at himself from Snape's eyes.  He looked awful.  Then he was back.  He felt just the same, except for something swirling at the edge of his thoughts.  Like a fading dream.  _Too bad the nightmares don't fade.  __Is that Snape?  Harry frowned.  __This is  kind of anticlimactic.  _

"For Severus to enable the link to be fully active, he must be as close to sleep as possible.  You're connected even now, but one of the two of you must be more receptive at first to solidify the bond.  In time, you may not need to be.  My time is almost at an end here, Harry…" Dumbledore said.  His eyes were sad.  _He doesn't want to leave me, Harry realized, and was oddly comforted.  __He's done what he can.  Snape had pulled his hand away and was currently placing an amazing array of vials into a tear in Harry's mattress.  Harry watched him quietly.  Dumbledore eased Harry completely back onto the pathetic bed, tucking the blanket around him.  Harry was too weak to do anything but watch.  Eventually, Snape stood and looked at Harry expectantly.  _

"Thank you, professor," he said.  Snape appeared surprised for a second, then nodded curtly.  "Headmaster?" Harry asked, frowning.  Dumbledore had stood to allow Snape to supply Harry's mattress but now took Harry's hand in his own tenderly.  Harry was grateful for it, but unsure how much the Headmaster felt and how much was wishful thinking on Harry's part.  Dumbledore cared, of that Harry didn't doubt.  But that gesture, as holding him had been, was something only Mrs. Weasley had ever done.  Harry was too tired to process his thoughts completely, so, letting it go, he focused on what he'd meant to ask.  "When the Dementors are around… I'm not even aware.  I… I'm in a bad place.  I don't understand how this spell can work with that?" he asked.  How could Snape even reach him? 

"Because the foundation of this spell is based on your mutual dislike.  It's negative in nature, therefore unaffected by the Dementors' magic," Dumbledore said and managed to look quite pleased with himself.  Snape snorted loudly and appeared slightly annoyed.  Harry shook his head.  _How appropriate.  The final mystery solved.  _

"Ah," Harry replied and watched as Snape covered himself again with Harry's cloak.  Snape looked at Harry for a moment, and appeared to want to say something, but didn't, disappearing.  Harry stared back at the place where the professor he'd hated the most likely still stood and said nothing.  What could be said?  _Good luck?  Hang in there?  Cheerio?  Hope I don't kill you?  Thanks for risking your neck for someone you hate?  Harry shook his head.  He was starting to fade.  When his mind rambled, he knew it wasn't long before he passed out.  _

"Harry," Dumbledore said, bringing Harry's thoughts back to the present.  "We'll be back.  I promise," Dumbledore said.  Harry nodded and patted the Headmaster's hand reassuringly.  Dumbledore pulled his hand back and Harry caught the flash of a frown before his gentle smile was in place.  

"Yes, Headmaster," Harry replied.  Dumbledore stood and glanced behind him.  Harry couldn't hear Snape, but knew he was there.  "Good bye," Harry said, reluctant for the Headmaster to leave.  But the chill in the air was growing.  The Dementors were signaling the end of the visit.  Harry tried to smile at the Headmaster, but instead it came out a grimace, so he gave up.  Dumbledore looked at Harry a moment longer.  

"We'll get you out of here," Dumbledore said solemnly.  Harry knew a vow when he heard one.  He nodded and watched as Dumbledore turned and walked away.  The door closed behind him, the echo of metal slamming shut ringing in Harry's ears long after Dumbledore's footsteps had retreated.  It was such a permanent sound.  Like a death knell.  Harry closed his eyes as the chill overcame him, and the silence was once again filled with screams.  

**TBC….**

Elektra, AllAboutMe (lol  Poking me?  Hehehehe.  Well, just so you know, as the plot gets thicker, the writing takes longer, so do have patience with me.  After all, you want me to do it right… right?), Elizabeth Batory, ditto2001, SpiderGirl05, ratgirl, kapies, Centra-gal86 (great cheer, by the way g), Von (Hadn't thought of the sea creature angle.  You're the second to mention it.  It's a clever twist.  Alas…), Tempest Princess, Me (what's with the poking? g), Teigra (me, too), Sakura Le, Lei Dumbledore, Phoenix, summersun, sk8reagle, Videl86, Anti Pasta (see, here's Snape), WeasleyTWinsLover1112, Siri Kay (hey, I've done that too!), Hyper Princess G,  Arien S (I agree.  He was nice because Harry was still useful…  Snape is dangerous, I'm telling you.  You're going along, perfectly happy to detest the Slimy Potions Master when *whammo*, you see some insight into his brilliant mind and realize how you love snarky humor.  He's a menace!  Thanks for putting me in your faves.  I promise to work hard to stay there!), Bridgie (I'm working on that.  But as the plot steepens, it does seem to take longer for me to produce the chapters.  Bear with me. Thanks!!!), LittleMy, x-woman (Yes, I do love Harry Potter.  Perhaps a little too much.  After all, you can love Harry Potter, but…  hehehe.), Vitamin_C2002 (it was generally planned, but now it's getting trickier.  Hang in there.  I have lots planned for it), Ice (G), Kim 8-), witchchild hands you tissue (I'm glad.  It sounds horrible, but I'm glad.  Cheers to lots more angst and peril!), lothey (absolutely!):  So, this chapter's general theme was What on earth is Harry's Animagus form going to be, and How on earth do you plan on the poor boy surviving?  Hehehehehe.  So… whaddya think?  8-)  Thanks a million for reviewing.  I love it!!!  Really.  I *live* for this stuff.  G

Suspect:  Thanks.  Yes, Ron's strategic, but he's also extremely emotional.  Percy's betrayal was more than just an intellectual disagreement.  Percy chose to believe others above his family.  Not a pretty thought. 

Lady Foxfire:  Oooh.  Welcome back!  I'm looking forward to seeing how *your* story progresses as well!  G

Colleen:  Thanks a bunch.  No, I don't forsee Ron getting over this any time soon.  Yes, he will be…

SammiSnape:  Okay, okay!  I'm updating already.  g  kicks toe at the ground bashfully  Wow.  Thank you.  Compliments like these are what I live for, and what make me so pleased I actually *posted* my writing somewhere.  It's the validation I've been craving for years to hear that 'Yes, I should dare to pursue this as a career' and 'You like me, you *really* like me' g.  Either way, I'm grateful you feel as you do, and here's another chapter.  Thank you again.  8-)

Moonlight Yellow:  Thanks.  As it gets grimmer, it also gets hard to insert the lighter stuff.  Hmmm.  Ginny's probably a better cook than Hermione.  I forsee Hermione forsaking quality food for the sake of microwavables so as not to interfere with her reading.  I *love* the nice long reviews.  The more the merrier.  Of course Ron's mad at his brother, but his anger is a little deeper than what Percy has *done* per se.  Percy's not stupid by any means.  The choices he made were conscious and deliberate… He turned a blind eye to the truth, at everyone, including his family's expense.  It's betrayal that Ron is feeling as much as righteous anger for Harry.  Percy turned his back and now *sees the error of his ways*.  Who is to say Percy doesn't do it again in a couple of years?  That kind of trust and family isn't easily rebuilt.  It's like how some things said can *never* be taken back.  Same idea.  So many hints… so little included in the plot outline… sorry everyone.  Dogs swim.  Mine used to all the time.  Wish she wouldn't have.  Darn long hair.  Harry become a fish?  Hadn't thought of that one.  8-)  Here's Snape for you!  Hope you enjoyed him.  Thank you so much for the kind review.  Glad you like it!

Gracie:  You know, I hadn't *quite* thought of it that way, but you are spot on.  Good insight.  

Lothey:  Thanks.  It's frightening how quickly I figured out how to do the cliffhanger.  It's too easy.  8-)

Lu: Yes, angst is an understatement in my story…. g  True.  Very true.  Hehehehe… Possible.  Very possible…  You know, I never realized how many words this was.  Doesn't 100,000 make a novel?  Cool!  Yes, although he's lived it as well, n'est pas?  Ooooh.  Shhhh!  Be quiet!  Don't tell them what you know!  Thank you so much for the kind words.  I'm glowing at my keyboard… No really.  I am.  I'll be curious just how you think of this story as it progresses.  The plot's rolling now.  


	26. New Developments

Disclaimer:  Still not mine…  Hurmph.  

Author's Note:  Okay, I just *had* to brag about this.  Lothey was kind enough to show me *this* picture:  http://www.geocities.com/gredandfeorgeareuptonogood/HarryandSirius.jpg

So I just had to share it with you because I think it's amazing.  Poor Harry.  ahem  Oh, I'm the author of this one, aren't I?  This is Angst Central, signing off.  Oh, and thanks for all your awesome (and long) reviews.  I tried to respond in kind.  As always, R&R (and no, that's not Rest and Relaxation g).

**Chapter 26**

Ron sighed as he pushed the pile of parchments away from the table and leaned back.   He stretched his arms above his head and groaned, gratified as his back cracked noisily.  George shook his head with a small grin, and Hermione didn't even look up.  

"I wish I could do that," George said enviously, and winced as he tried to sit up a little straighter at the table.  Fred glanced over at him quietly.  George smiled at his twin reassuringly, and let himself tip to the side, gently bumping Fred in the shoulder before straightening again.  

The injuries in the raid that George received were nearly all healed now.  Only the tenderness of the muscles that had strained from his fall downstairs remained.  The bones in his leg healed nicely, but he still limped slightly as the twisted tendons took longer to mend.  Ron watched his twin brothers discretely, amazed at how Fred had responded to the attack.  

As Beaters, Fred and George both received countless injuries all the time.  Never had Ron seen Fred behave like this with George, though, even counting the time George took a Bludger to the head...  Their companionship and camaraderie had always been an understood thing.  They were twins, after all.  Communication seemed to pass between them that was never verbalized or even shown through body language.  It's what made them such devastating Beaters.  

But since the attack, Ron noticed that Fred seemed to watch his brother as if he were made of glass.  He kept his wand with him at all times (although Ron and Hermione both had done this since third year), and he kept close watch on George.  Every flinch, every sigh was now closely monitored.  George seemed to notice right away Fred's distress, and had been trying to reassure him ever since.  Ron watched his two brothers as they shared a look between them.  George smiled at Fred and bumped his shoulder again.  

Even their mother had begun to watch Fred with concern.  Fred's normally loud, vivacious personality was muted.  He quietly kept close eye on George everywhere he went, and refused to leave his side even for a moment.  Jokes, the be-all end-all of the twins' existence for many years (besides Quidditch, of course) now took a back seat.

"I can't believe how much there is to sort through," Ron said and took the handfuls of parchment he'd gone through which he then dropped untidily on the stack next to his chair.  Ginny watched him and pursed lips.  

"Percy is going to go ape when he sees the pile you're making.  I think he had all those in order," she observed.  She didn't look distraught at her announcement.  Ron raised an eyebrow.  

"I'm not worried about his little filing system.  We're running out of time," Ron replied and knew his tone betrayed his anger.  Hermione glanced up, pushing her hair off her face to get a better look at both Ron and Ginny.  The side of her lip curled up for a moment, then she looked back down, absentmindedly twisting her hair into a knot which she tied on top of her head.  The parchment she'd been holding began to roll up and she sighed tiredly as she reflattened it out and tried to find her place again.  Curls stuck out everywhere.  

"When do Mr. Weasley and Percy get back?" Hermione asked.  Ginny glanced at her and bit the side of her lip distractedly, shaking her head.  She looked tired and pale, her freckles showing up starkly against her skin.  The purple shadows under her eyes showed her fatigue all too well.

"I'm not sure.  I hope they don't intend to stay at work the whole day.  Bill's coming later this afternoon, though, and Charlie should be here by this evening," Ginny replied.  

It was four days since the attack, and no one else was talking about the ramifications of the rest of the family coming home to stay… indefinitely.  Ron wondered if they realized what it meant.  His dad kept saying that he'd called his eldest sons back to 'help sort through the paperwork', but Ron knew that wasn't it.  Arthur Weasley had called his sons back in case the Ministry attacked again.  And with Percy smuggling more paperwork out daily, that chance increased exponentially.

"What the bloody hell is an ERM, and why do they pop up all the time?" Ron asked in frustration as he unrolled a new parchment in front of him.  Fred looked up and frowned.  

"You know, there are a ton of those forms, too, aren't there?  No names or anything, just locations, and it's got the Auror Division insignia on the letterhead.  What do you think it is?"  Fred asked curiously.  George glanced over at Fred's parchment and nodded.  Apparently, he'd been wondering the same thing.

"Ronald Weasley, don't make me come in there and wash your mouth out.  It's Exogenous Retention Modifiers," Molly Weasley said from the kitchen door where she'd evidently overheard them.  She glared at Ron, then seemed to notice the blank stares of the rest of the table.  "Memory Charms," she prompted them as if it were the most common knowledge in the world.  Ron suppressed a snicker at the shocked expression on Hermione's face.  He was well aware that his mother was full of surprises.  "It's when they have to Obliviate people," she elaborated, and what his mother said truly began to sink in.  Ron looked at her in surprise as well, but didn't dare to say anything.  He was lucky he'd gotten off with a warning.  

"We're not going to track anything with no names, though…" Hermione said, discouraged, after Ron's mother turned and walked back into the kitchen. She plopped her chin on her hands and frowned. 

"We've still got Harry's dates," Ron replied.  "Use that first.  I know the Memory Charm is cast all the time with Muggles, but… wouldn't they have had to use it on neighbors as well if the Dark Mark appears?  Otherwise You Know Who's attacks would already be in the news."  

"But there's no addresses," George said.  

"No…  but there are town names," Hermione said, pleased.  "Find a concentration and check out the town."  

"No…  look at it the other way.  We already have the names of the missing from the Daily Prophet.  Find out where they live and correlate the Memory Charms to that," Ron said, thrilled.  _That makes sense.  _

"Then we should have looked up their addresses in the first place," Hermione said, clearly annoyed with herself.  Ron shook his head.  

"No, I'll bet they wiped out all traces of Dark Magic from the homes.  Remember, we're looking for evidence.  We don't have the magic, but an abnormal amount of Memory Charms in the vicinity is a place to start," Ron said, his heart beating faster.  He was beginning to feel better about the search.  

"We're looking for what they've done with the bodies," Hermione reminded everyone grimly.  "So we need to look for innocent sounding services that might be used for dark purposes." 

"Well, I've got a list of weird sounding businesses already.  We'll just keep adding to it as we look and ask either Dad or Percy what each of them are when they get home," Ginny said as she looked at everyone.  

Fred and George nodded as they turned back to their respective parchment piles.  Hermione and Ron looked at each other for a moment before he, too, grabbed some more scrolls from the tabletop.  _This isn't what we *want* to be doing to help Harry, but it's all we can do.  Please let it be enough.  Ron knew Hermione shared his thoughts.  __We're pretty useless right now otherwise.  _

************************************************************

It took a while to convince Albus to have Pomfrey leave me in peace.  I'm not looking forward to initiating the bond with the boy as it is.  To try to do so in the sterile, antiseptic Hospital Wing makes me shudder.  

As soon as I returned from Azkaban I took a long, hot shower.  No matter how hard I scrub, I swear I still see the grime underneath my fingernails from when I was there.  It's strange.  I would do anything Albus asked of me… but this is one of the hardest things I've ever had to face.  _The hardest.  _

Potter wasn't told all aspects of the spell that was performed.  I wonder if he would have if he'd known. _Harboring of Souls.  Ironic name for the spell.  __I'm shocked I still have one.  It's supposed to be a sharing of consciousness, where the stronger soul pulls as much of the other's consciousness into his own body as he can.  __Any port in a storm.  _

What Potter doesn't realize is that, although muted, the Dementors will affect me as well.  _I'm not sure I can do this.  *This* is my current concern.  I'll have to shield the boy from **my memories while still focusing enough thought and energy on ****him to allow him a sanctuary of sort to realize his Animagus abilities… *****if* he can become an Animagus.  I sigh as I look over at the bed that waits for me to begin. **__A problem shared is a problem halved.   Damn Albus and his disgustingly cheerful, hopeful eyes anyway.  Why on earth am *I* supposed to be Potter's greatest hope?  It's too absurd for words.  I swear I hear James' snicker in the shadows.  Bastard.  _

The nebulous pain of Potter's emotions has been with me now for nearly a day.  He's not ***in* my mind, but his presence echoes distantly, promising nothing but despair.  I feel it in the air.  I taste it on my tongue.  It's acrid and bitter, like a foul potion for foul deeds.  It's the experience of loss and loneliness so complete that Potter cannot even interact with the outside world while the Dementors are nearby.  The place he's in…  _Okay, come back, Severus.  Thoughts like this are why I've procrastinated half an hour past when I said I'd arrive to help Potter.  __It's not like he'll notice.  I'm not a selfish man by nature.  Ignorant, somewhat, and naive… once.  __No longer.  But I pay for my follies daily.  __As if teaching isn't punishment enough.  _**

Sighing, I cross to the bed and throw myself on it before I can change my mind.  Glancing at the nightstand beside me, I realize Albus has left a large chunk of chocolate for me.  It still amazes me that he cares.  _Strays -R- Albus.  For all that I've scoffed at the mercy of others…  I'll be eternally grateful for his.  Which is ***why* I'm going to do this…**_

Closing my eyes, I let my senses drift to the vortex just outside my consciousness.  Potter is there.  _Follow the bond and visualize it solidifying, becoming an anchor from your consciousness to his.  Annoying instructions.  I would expect such nonsense from Trelawney.  But I do as I'm told and realize that I can no longer feel my body.  Instead I can feel voices…  Voices I know…  Laughter….  *****__His*__ Laughter….  Back when he was strong and charismatic and cruel and beautiful…  Back before I realized my lapse of judgement and that knowledge is not necessarily always power.  _

Desperately I struggle to shut the sounds off and close my eyes… _Do I even ***have* eyes here?  I refuse to see my past.  **__I know what I've done, this is not what I'm here for.  I dare not move forward until this is silenced.  How much has Potter already seen within my mind as I try to open the bond?  His presence feels closer, somehow, and I fear what he may have seen…  If he's even aware of what I'm experiencing.  I force the sounds of my own past below the surface, below my consciousness.  The laughter begins to fade.  It now bubbles away in the back of my mind, like a potion set to simmer, just as Potter did when I had not tried to activate the bond yet.  __Please let him not see my past…_

Eventually, my mind stills.  My shrieks of rage at my own arrogance are silenced.  _It's more of a growl now anyway.  I truly stand on the precipice of his pain.  __Am I really standing?  Or is this more Trelawney's astral projection nonsense?  It's the salty air that brings my reality home.  __Merlin, I'm back in his cell.  I'm shivering, bitterly cold, yet I cannot move.  My body hurts in a way that is nearly overwhelming….  __Aftereffects of battling the Veritaserum.__  You never stood a chance, Potter…  I feel like my limbs wouldn't move properly, even if I had the energy to try, and my head feels like it's about to explode, my forehead being pierced by an ice pick.  __Is this what your scar feels like, Potter?  You underplayed it.   Ah well.  It's time to say Hello.  _

**Potter** I call into the chaos.  My voice sounds odd and even echoes back at me.  Silence.  **Potter** I call again.  Words that I did not say, but are in my voice, call to me.  I recognize them now…  I have said them to him.  I'm hearing his memories...  My insults over his potion making.  My remarks about his parents, about his celebrity, his friends.  The things I mocked and ridiculed him with… which in truth consoled me as I taught him potions…  As I faced my guilt daily.  I ***hated* him, I see that now.  I thought I'd hidden it deep enough.  I cloaked it in excuses to deflect suspicions from Death Eater children as to where my true loyalties lay.  _Be too kind and they'll know you're a traitor.  I know the truth… and so does he.  It's a bitter pill to swallow.  I hated him for what he forced me to face._**

**Potter** I call once more.  Perhaps I need to work harder, give more to the tentative bond… _Ack… I feel towards him...  It's like the gentle tugs one would use to correct a kite and prevent it from crashing.  If I just followed it properly, it would lead me straight to Potter.  I put energy towards the connection, and nearly falter for a moment.  My own demons come back, before I'm able to suppress them again.  __Stay quiet, you.  I feel as if I'm wading into icy waters, waiting for the numbness to allow me to continue.  I'm not in him, yet.  I'm skirting the edges of his life.  I'm only seeing the part *I* played in it.  My own words still whisper around me, overlapping, sometimes indiscernible, taunting me…  __At least I'm memorable…  Careless words I barely remember saying._

It's the shock and horror of my desperate fury to get Black the Dementor's Kiss that pulls me forward.  _Merlin, boy…  I can see from your memories you barely knew him an hour.  Okay.  I'm disgusted.  **Potter** I say, and I know my annoyance is evident.  _

**Professor?** a weak voice replies.  It's him.  _Ah.  All I have to do to reach him is traumatize him.  ****__That__ I can do.  _

**Focus on my voice,** I instruct.  I feel a gentle pull against my chest and can begin to sense him in this mess which is his mind…  _I will never admit this experience to Sybill.  Never.  I try to help Potter draw nearer as I realize that to be closer to me takes him further from **them… the Dementors.  **Can you follow my voice?** I ask.  Can I take him back to my body the way I'm in his?  Are we sharing his body?  **__Why aren't complicated spells ever properly explained?  _

**I…  I'm trying,** he whispers.  He sounds so tired, so flat.  Why does he try still?  I sense his feeling of hopelessness… _Oh.  He's doing it because he knows my life is now tied to him.  __Lovely.  _

I feel a tingling against my chest and realize I can reach out and grab him…  _Is this really him in front of me?  I can see him now.  He's floating before me, his robes dancing to unseen currents.  His glasses are askew… __Are they that way in the cell as well?  He's mostly gray, like a ghost, except for his eyes…  Even behind his glasses they're the brightest thing about him.  __I think I'm going to have nightmares about those eyes.  I hold out my hand to him.  He seems to focus beyond me.  _

**Potter,** I reprimand sharply as he begins to fade.  I'm terrified to lose him now that I'm here.  I don't know if I'd be able to find him again.  His outline sharpens.  **Take my hand,** I say.  _What on earth am I going to do once I have it?  His eyes turn slowly to focus on my face again.  He reaches out, his fingers curling against mine.  His hand is so small.  __He's fifteen, I have to remind myself, because every instinct I have is to treat him like a child… yet I know all too well he is not.  When his hand is completely in mine, I feel…  energy sparking around me.  __Is this the bond?  I tentatively try to manipulate it.  It moves to my will.  __What is this?  Our connection?  I cringe at all the touchy feely words I'm using in my head to describe this.  **You're never to tell Trelawney of this,** I say hastily.  _

**There's no danger of that,** Potter replies, and it startles me.  I think his reply was laced with a tinge of irony.  

As I move the energy around us, I feel a tug against my chest.  _So it is the bond, then.  I try to add energy to it.  I have no idea how much time it has taken to get me here, but my own stamina is drawing to a close.  I won't be able to stay much longer.  _

**Potter, I must have your permission.  In several hours time the Dementors will leave and your food will arrive…** I say, preparing to explain why he should allow me complete access to his body.  He gave it verbally when I was there, but I've prepared ample arguments for what I know must appall him as much as it appalls me.  

**Given,** he says.  I'm startled by his sudden reply.  It definitely takes the wind out of my argument, doesn't it?  I pause to try to glean from the bond if I can do it…  Walk around in Potter's skin.  _I don't feel any different.  _

**I think it's more than words,** I say dryly.  He's fading again.  I can feel the energy disperse between us.  That's why he replied so quickly.  He's fading, and he knows I am, too.  **Try harder.  Visualize it,** I instruct.  I watch his transparent face in front of me and feel his will shape our bond as well.  It sings over my skin and tugs at my breast bone, reverberating like a deep bass would.  It feels good, I realize, and nearly yelp.  It's… comforting.  He must feel my startled response, for I sense him pulling away.   _Damnit__, Severus.  You're better at hiding things than this.  **Potter, what are you doing?** I call out, watching him fade.   He pauses and looks at me.  _

**How can we sever the link?** he asks, his voice firm.  I freeze.  I know what that means and automatically begin to shake my head.   **You want this even less than I.  Go away, Professor,** he says, and I'm pushed into darkness again.  He's trying to force me away.  **Dumbledore says we can sever the link.  Do so.**  His voice is calm and accepting.  I feel rage at my own squidginess.  _Discipline.__  Accomplishment.  Success.  Dignity.  These are what I've known all my life.  Comfort is as alien to me as love.  __I'm sarcasm and wit, not hugs and kisses, I rail to the void.  But I know the truth.  __I blew it.  I had him and I blew it.  He reached out to me, opened up to me, and I…  I rejected him.  __Where's a dog to kick when I need one?  Oh, wait.  Did that.  _

I'm drifting now, back to my own body.  His aches begin to fade except for the pain in my forehead…  _In his forehead.  Abruptly, the pain draws me back whether I like it or not.  It's searing.  I reach up to press my hands to my forehead, hissing, but my hands fly through.  I'm as transparent as Potter now.  __What is this pain?  My forearm begins to tingle, and I know suddenly all too well what is happening.  __Even in Azkaban, Potter still sees what Voldemort does.  _

I begin to float back towards where I suspect Potter is, moving faster and faster.  Darkness brightens to night, and the faint flicker of lights tell me I'm looking down over the countryside.  _Great Merlin.__  I know where *this* is.  The mindless screams within Potter's mind oddly begins to silence.  __So are the dreams enough to hold Dementors at bay, then?  I'm floating over a darkened countryside, pulled towards… *him*.  I lower until I'm passing through the top of a roof to land beside Potter.  He stands silently, looking at something intently, not glancing at me as I join him.  I know this scene.  I've seen it played out far too often.  _

Death Eaters in a room.  Frightened people running through the house, chased by laughing monsters in the shape of men, until they're corralled into the living room.  *This* is their sport.  They're playing, like cats with a mouse.  There will be no survivors.  There will be no escapes.  Disgusted, I look towards Harry.  He continues to look around intently, and even now begins to move about the house quickly.  It's odd, trying to follow him.  It's like trying to run in water.  Soon, he's back in the room where *they* are.  

"What are you doing?" I ask, forcing myself to ignore the pleas and fearful questions.  I keep my eyes trained on the boy.  I know each of the Death Eaters all too well.  Potter steps forward  to where the man sits on the floor, his face terrified.  Harry kneels beside him.  

"Can you hear me?" he asks softly, watching closely for a response.  There is none, but it doesn't look like Potter's surprised.  He then turns to the woman.  I realize they look oddly familiar to me… _Could they be parents of someone at Hogwarts? I realize in horror.  "Can you hear me?" Potter asks of the woman as well.  She's trying hard not to cry, but her breathing comes out in gasps of a sob anyway, like short hiccups of sound.  "Do you know them?" he abruptly asks of me as he wearily stands again.  __Fifteen._

"Who?" I ask, surprised he's talking to me.  "The couple?  No.  But they look familiar," I respond.  Now that I'm in his dream, it seems like we have a more superficial means of communication again.  I can no longer hear his thoughts.  _Perhaps that's good._

"How about the Death Eaters?" he asks me. _No nonsense.  I nod.  He looks pleased for a moment, then begins leaning over any parchments he sees in the room.  _

"What are you doing now?" I ask.  I feel oddly like an intruder here, like this is *his* torment I'm interrupting.  It seems as if he has a routine for when the dreams start.  

"I'm trying to see if I can find out their names and address," he replies.  His voice is as weak as ever, yet his movements are sure and fast.  "Arvel and Deirdre Barnes.  Do you know them?" he asks me.  I realize I'm much more comfortable when he's looking away, when those eyes are not on me.  His movements are fast and jerky.  _It's like he's trying to do as much as quickly as possible.  _

"I don't.  I may have seen them before, though.  It could even have been Diagon Alley for all I know," I reply.  He pauses for a moment, and evidently reads the questions in my expression, for he continues.

"I look for the exits… just in case someone does see me…  If I can try to help them escape by at least letting them know if there are others standing guard or not…  I've only succeeded once, but…" here he shrugs.  Even he seems to know it's fruitless, but still makes the effort.  "I try to find out who the victims are," he says, and I realize how clinical it sounds.  _*Of course* he knows they won't live either.  "It's nice to have you here.  You know all of the Death Eaters.  I'm only familiar with about ten or so.  The rest I've just memorized by voice and build," he continues to explain.  _

_Facts for his journal.__  He's trying to be as specific as possible for Dumbledore.  I'm stunned.  Even in the face of all *this*, he still tries.  It's hopeless.  Even he knows that.  __Yet look at him…  And I do.  I've never doubted his courage… In fact, I've wondered how much *was* courage and how much was just plain stupidity, but this…  __This is about strength.  _

I've missed much of the dialogue between Barnes and the Death Eaters, but it's no mystery.  The curses have begun, and Potter stands watching, his eyes flitting from figure to figure.  The screams fill my mind, and I feel filthy.  He *knows* I was a Death Eater, too.  Does he think I participated in this?  Potter's face is still.  His eyes look so old as Arvel Barnes begs for his wife's life.  

"Why do you watch this?" I ask him.  

"I look for evidence," he replies, but I know that's not true.  The Ministry will cover up any evidence left behind.  He looks at me for a moment, and sees I don't believe him.  "Because someone should," he says softly. 

"Please, what have we done?  Whatever we did, we didn't mean it," Arvel Barnes says earnestly.  _I believe him.  "If we've upset you… take it out on me.  Let my wife leave.  We've done nothing to harm you…" he pleads.  He's dressed like a Muggle.  He looks kind.  He's just a bit round, with rosy cheeks from too many pints and deep laugh lines around his eyes.  He's wearing a sweater that fits him oddly…  I think it was made for him.   __His wife probably made it._

"You know what happens now.  Come outside with me," I suddenly plead.  The Death Eaters have had their fun.  It's nearly time for the main event.  I don't want to see this, and I don't want Potter to see this either.  Not while I'm beside him.  If he's feeling particularly altruistic when I'm *not* around… fine.  

"I can't," he replies.  

"What do you mean?" I ask, puzzled.  

"He's coming.  I'm bound," he replies.  "Can't you feel it?"  I do.  I feel it in the air.  It's what I imagine a muggle would feel if they ever faced a Christian demon.  "My scar's already starting to burn.  Try to leave now.  Walk out the door," he instructs.  _Torturous Dreams 101.  _

I turn and step away, and it's as if a spring attached to my robes is being pulled further and further taut.  The further I step away from the living room, the more I'm dragged back.  _Merlin.  __He has no choice.  _

"Then close your eyes.  Plug your ears.  Wake up," I say in mounting horror as I watch the Death Eaters raise their wands.  It's time for the screams.  

"What is there to touch?  Until *he* has come and gone, I'm trapped here," Potter says.  I know who he's referring to. Voldemort.  _He's coming.  _

"Crucio," Avery says, his lips curling into a lazy smile.  The screams fill the room and I feel my own despair rising like bile.  I *hate* this.  I was seduced to this life, not through the promise of cruelty to man, but the promise of forbidden knowledge.  It was a tantalizing fruit, and I'd already committed myself by the time I learned what Lucius' favorite sport really was.  

"Then talk to me.  Tell me what you do in these dreams.  You've saved lives.  Be specific.  Look at me, Potter," I say, trying to calm my rising voice, trying to distract him.  He turns and I see his expression.  He looks so old…  I don't know why it means so much to me to keep him from witnessing this, but it does.  _Does my own sense of shame play a part in this?  Either way, I realize I've lost my composure completely.  __Completely unacceptable._

"There's nothing to do now.  I've already done what I can.  The only interactions I've had are with people Voldemort was torturing himself.  And that was only a few times, right before death.  Them," Potter says and points to the people writhing in agony, "I cannot help.  I've screamed and cried and tried magic…  I've tried to hurt the Death Eaters, and myself.  I've tried to run away.  I've tried to slip inside the victims and tell them where to run.  They cannot hear me," Potter says, his voice intense with frustration and rage.  Oddly, I'm pleased.  It's the most animation I've seen in him since I initiated the bond.  I close my eyes for a moment, and when I open them he's stepped forward.  My blood runs cold.  _What are you doing?  Have you gone mad?!  He kneels before the old man once again…  Barnes doesn't have long now.  His wife is sobbing beside him.  I suspect she is no longer sane.  _

"It's almost over.  I promise.  I'm so sorry.  It's almost over.  I'm so sorry," he whispers as he kneels next to the doomed couple, then he steps away again.  Tears slide down his face unnoticed.  The reality of his guilt hits me hard.  _*This* is ***his* blood debt.  He feels responsible, for it was his blood who raised Voldemort.  He feels he *owes* it to them to watch, because he caused it.  I feel sick.  I've always known he felt guilty, but the reality of it never quite set in.  Potter's face is oddly slack.  I feel tears on my face.  **__Merlin, I'm crying myself.  My tears are for the lost little boy with the courage of a Gryffindor who's too naïve to know when he's beat.  _

"It amazes me how you all seem to *not* know what you've done,"  a voice says from the doorway and pain sears through my brain.  Potter falls on the floor in front of me, and I myself am brought to my knees.  _*Voldemort*.   Potter looks over at me, his face contorted in pain.  My arm begins to tingle and itch painfully.  Is it the proximity, or would I feel this in the Dark Mark at Hogwarts?  I pray to whatever gods may be listening that he doesn't sense me.  My Dark Mark radiates evil like a beacon when I'm around Voldemort, and I fear it may do the same here.  I realize the scene before me is beginning to fade.  I look to Potter in surprise.  He's still in pain and clutching his forehead, but a sudden hard grin takes hold.  _

"You're leaving!  Tell them who they are," he says determinedly  "Do you know where you are?" he asks.  I nod.  The color in the room is beginning to fade to gray, and Potter is becoming nearly white.  "You're at Hogwarts, right?" he asks.  I nod again.  He reminds me oddly of a mini-general taking command.  "Tell Dumbledore.  Have him send people over before the Ministry covers it up," he instructs.  Good plan.  _Wait._

"I won't leave," I say firmly.  His eyes go round with surprise.

"Are you mad?  Get out of here," he says.  I ignore the tone.  _For now.  _

"Not until you give me permission.  Mean it, Potter.  Not until you give me access to you while you're unconscious," I say.  He nearly rolls his eyes in frustration.

"There.  You have it.  Now would you leave?!" he asks, annoyed.  I'm pleased by that.  _What does that say about me?  As I fade, I feel his thoughts again, although I no longer can see him.  I'm traveling back to Hogwarts, but I can feel that a barrier is gone.  Next time it will be easier to find Potter.  And I believe I *will* be able to make sure he eats.  I'm pleased, and the grim hope I know Potter now feels that at least some evidence will be found before it's covered up gives me heart.  __Heart?__  Blech.  _

The twinges in my arm sears into a blinding pain for a moment, then ceases.  I see red, then white spots as I try to open my eyes.  My body jerks wildly as my limbs spasm in my bed. _ I'm in my bed!  I gasp for breath even as hands hold me down.  _

"Easy, Severus.  Easy.  Take deep breaths," Albus' gentle voice tries to calm my furiously beating heart.  The sea air has been replaced by the moist chill of my precious dungeons.  _I'm home._

"Greenocke," I gasp out.  That's the town I'd seen.  "Arvel and Deirdre Barnes.  Voldemort is there now.  He's nearly done, but if you send people now, before the Ministry comes…"  I struggle to say.  I fully intend to claw the hell out of my itching Dark Mark tonight.  I feel in the mood for a little pain.  I just hope some can be inflicted on the Ministry as well.  "Get pictures, too.  Better yet, a reporter." 

"So you found him?" Albus asks gently yet firmly, and I realize he's cradling me as he did Potter. My jaw feels like it's coming unhinged in a desperate struggle to catch my breath.  _Surely I haven't been holding my breath all this time?   "Shhhh, Severus.  Deep breaths.  Did you witness his nightmare?" he asks, although he already knows the answer.  I nod. __Would you get moving!?  I think in frustration.  He holds me closer for a second and I feel a slab of chocolate pressed to my lips.  I bite into it and find myself drifting.  "I had to make sure you were okay first.  Now I leave you in Pomfrey's capable hands.  I know where Arvel lives," he says sadly, and I hear a rustle of robes as I'm placed flat on the bed again.  _

I'm falling into nothingness.  I listen as Pomfrey whispers a warming charm over my blankets and tucks me in like a child.  I keep my eyes closed.  I've no energy left.  I marvel at the silence around me and let it swallow me whole.  _So *this* is success.  I'd hate to see what failure is.  I wish I could knock on wood.  I don't like tempting fate._

**TBC…..**

Colleen:  Thanks!  I was rather pleased with that one myself.  Hope the bond plays well.  

x-woman:  Hmmm.  Let me think on that.  Not sure.  

Nicky:  Thanks a million, as always. Your patience and grammatical skills astound me.  8-)  I love Snape.  Is that wrong?  g  I wondered long and hard about how Pettigrew was in the Marauders.  They were an extraordinary bunch.  It wouldn't be just anyone who'd be a part of them.  What would it take for him to betray something as special as that?  After all, to become an unregistered Animagus, he was risking a great deal as well.  Not all of it would be just because everyone else did it.  

Rosethorn8706:  hehehe.  It means a lot that my story evokes strong emotions.  Trust me, that's a very good compliment.  Praise me with great praise.  giggles  I know where you got that phrase from.  Poor Frodo…Thanks.  Hmmm.  Hadn't analyzed it that much.  I based it off a method I'd heard used to force people to doing things they were absolutely morally opposed to doing.  How do you make someone cooperate when you don't have a family or friends to threaten?  Drugs.  Get them so addicted to a drug that they'd sell their soul in a heartbeat for it…  It happens all the time by accident.  Some say it's also done on purpose… like with women forced into prostitution and horrible things like that.  It was an appalling thought, so…  There you are.  Addiction is addiction.  Bwah hah hah hah.  You'll see…

AngieC:  It did take me a while to get rolling.  Glad you stayed with it.  

AllAboutMe:  You know, that stick can get painful at times…  g

Tempest Princess:  That song broke my heart as well.  8-(   December!

Sherylyn:  Yeah, I miss all my favorite NC-17 stuff.  It just isn't the same.  sniffs

CherryStain:  Of course.  See, Snape plays a pretty big part now, doesn't he?  8-)

Vmr:  Thanks!

Cas:  Hah.  Fooled you!  Lord no, this isn't a children's story.  No offense taken.  I agree.

Vitamin_C2002:  Good.  Here you go.

Neutral:  Well, I just saw the other day you had my story on your favorites basks happily.  I cannot tell you how completely thrilled I am to find that out.  I was strutting like a peacock (for about a minute, but there you are.  Can't have the neighbors see).  I love all the characters in HP, so it's been a joy to write them.  Heck, I had no idea how much I liked Percy even.  I guess it's because he had so much room for growth.  Yeah, it's *all* about the angst.  Umm, I know *you* know that G.  Grins blissfully at kind praise from amazing author.  Oddly enough, Harry's development is the hardest for me.  He's so wise and sad already… but I have plans.  Really.  Sirius…  boy, do I love Sirius.  Me too.  He's the most tragic of the bunch.  So many years wasted in perpetual pain.  Even Remus gets more breaks than Sirius did.  Yeah, I've had to formalize an outline, which made it intimidating.  But I have a plan now, so…  Thank you so much for your kind words.  Your review means a great deal to me.  I look forward to your posts as well.  Amazing stuff you've got going.  Keep up the terrific work.  waves happily  

Amy:  Thanks.  Although it took me forever to figure out how to post with italics.  g

Lei Dumbledore:  Thanks! 8-)

Videl86:  That's a terrific compliment to give an author.

Ratgirl:  Thanks.  It was so obvious that I almost missed it.  Nah, I don't see it as awkward.  After all, he's already provided Harry with the invisibility cloak and more leniency than practically any other kid at Hogwarts.  He leaves the discipline to Minerva and Severus.  blushes at *that* comment  Boy, do I wish.  Very true.  Harry's problems are bigger than Azkaban.  I'm not gonna tell…

Celebony:  blushes happily  I think I just spend *way* too much time thinking about Harry Potter.  That's not wrong… is it?  8-)  Hmmm.  We'll see.  Lots of people anxious about what Harry will turn out to be… *if* he turns out to be anything.  There are no guarantees.  I'm glad you have faith.  I hope I don't disappoint.  

Mrs. Moony:  Okay! g

Anoni:  Hehehe.  I liked that one, too.  Me neither.  It'll definitely be a milestone for me!

Sabrina Kendall:  Yikes.  One sitting.  Wow.  Thanks!  Yep, he'll be addressed more as well.  Hmm.  I understand your criticism.  It's a legitimate point, but for the moment, Harry doesn't have much to distract him.  I do promise there will be more of *his* development coming.  After all, he's got Snape keeping him company now.  g  You're most welcome.  

Hana-chan:  Wow.  I'll bet it does.  8-)

Lothey:  Okay.  I'm a sponge.  I just soak these compliments up.  I'm really pleased you think so.  I've worked hard to try to keep it unique.  Some will be like others…  it's unavoidable when you're working in someone else's universe.  You have a fixed set of rules.  But I've tried to keep it fresh.  I still find it funny that I learned more of Snape from fanfiction than I ever did from the books.  g.  Pettigrew gave me pause.  I had to think about him.  That's one thing I absolutely have to give JKR her due:  None of her characters are one dimensional.  They all have much more to them than is evident:  Neville and his parents;  Snape being a spy;  Remus and Sirius; heck, even Lucius is evil beyond belief and yet still a sinister father figure for Draco.  Well, if she did, it would be the highest compliment imaginable.  Alas, she's already got her story plotted.  If there are similarities… she beat me to them.  Fair enough.  You'll have to let me know if you get that beer or not.  

Mnemosyne:  hehehe

Draconic Ragnorock:  Thanks.  Yep, he bugged me.  Glad I found a way to explain it to myself at least!

Ditto2001:  Okay.

Moonlight Yellow:  Hi!  hehehehe.  Yep.  Me too.  Hope he still plays well.  It's hard delving into a more introspective side when it comes to Harry.  I thought so too, but it worked.  There's something very childlike about Dumbledore.  Nope.  Different boat.  Me too.  It's so sad, because so much of Harry's childhood is already lost.  That's a big part of my sense of his tragedy.  So much pain and petty cruelty has already been inflicted.  What is it they say:  It takes 20 positive things to undo one negative?  Poor Harry.  True.  But how long would he have remained in the cupboard?  He may not be happy, but he's found a place where they welcome him, where there *are* people who love him, and where he's somebody special.  It helps to counterbalance all those times he was called a nobody.  Thanks.  I felt Harry would be overwhelmed emotionally, so he'd be flat when he interacted with Dumbledore.  It's like how a person feels after a tremendous emotional outburst.  Tired, kind of flat, maybe a little numb.  Multiply that a thousand fold.  True.   hehehe.  Lots of people like the spell.  g  Glad you like it.  Nope, I don't see him as one to cry easily either.  But… he's still asking a lot of a fifteen year old boy.  He can't be too proud of what he has to do.  

Wonder:  Oh, absolutely.  Snape's been horrible to Harry, and I don't think many besides Dumbledore can even *see* the better side of him.  Yeah, I really had to think about what Dumbledore was to Harry.  His tendency towards leniency and gentle guidance…  especially when he found him at the Mirror of Erised sp?, really spoke to me.  Thanks.  Hope you like this chapter too.  Putting the spell into play was harder than I thought it would be.  

LittleEar BigEar's sis:  Thanks.  

FirePixie28:  Well, I'm sure there's lots of reasons why Snape did the spell…  8-)

WeasleyTwinsLover1112:  here's a Kleenex  

PurePsychicEspeon:  Thanks!  I enjoy putting Snape in the thick of things. Hmmm.  8-)  I like it!   Especially since it seems being Headmaster means so much more.  hehehehe Ooops.   Moi?  Say it isn't so!  8-)  Okay.  I'll try.  It took a long time for me to figure out what Harry should get for his b-day.  Glad you liked the presents.  Thanks!

Katalina: Thanks.  

Anti Pasta:  Yeah, it did.  Glad you stuck with it.  Yep, here's the meat of the story.  Hmm.  Good thoughts.  I like them.  I'll bet she is.  Harry needs *something* for a defense!

Kaydee:  Wow, long time since I heard from you!  No problem.  You *were* missed, though.  8-)  Thanks!  Well, I had to think of something good for a bad affect of Veritaserum, didn't I?  I've already done so much to poor Harry, I had to make it so that it was still something awful.  Why is that?  Is it something wrong with me?  8-)  You'll see…  Hmmm.  More like he found it distasteful.  Nothing too deep.  Glad you liked Azkaban.  I must admit I pictured it a bit like Alkatraz.  Yep.  You got it.  Bastille.  Off with their heads!  8-)  Ooops.  Slipped in a little Alice in Wonderland there, too.  Yep, you can.  I suspect the college level courses are *far* more interesting, too.  I love the quotes you find significant.  Yeah.  I wanted to get how it would *feel* to actually approach and *be* in a place like this.  Yep, I meant it that way. Heck, I even snickered writing it.  Thanks.  Yeah, me neither.  Poor Pettigrew. It sure sucks to be him.  Nope, Sirius won't care.  He's right.  Then Pettigrew *should* have died.  He just doesn't understand that there are some things worse than death…  Yep.  That's a lovely thought, isn't it?  As if there wasn't enough animosity between those two.  Not sure.  Does Snape even really *want* to?  After all, he's a Potion Master.  What would his motivation be to want to teach Dark Arts?  I've never heard *him* say it, and until I do…  My judgment is reserved.    Rather pleased with that sentence myself.  Geez, I love what you bring up!  You know why his eyes slip over Snape?  He's already in his nightmares…. So seeing him there is nothing new.  Yeah, Albus is a hard one to wrap around.  Wise and childlike at the same time.  He's an enigma.  Good description of him!  Thanks.  Hmmm.  Me too.  It sure is handy, isn't it?  True.  Nobody tells, do they?  Thanks for reviewing.  Welcome back.  

Hyper Princess:  Sure thing.  

Kapies:  Hmmm.  Can there be one?  8-)

Linds:  Thanks!

SpiderGirl05:  Me too. 

Psychochick:  lol  I'll try.  8-)

SammiSnape:  Um…  Sorry 'bout that.  

AshFarley:  I giggled all day about your review.  I've said it before and I'll say it again:  I just *live* for this sort of thing.  I was so insecure for so many years about my writing.  Posting here is one of the smartest things I've ever done.  In truth, I *do* have some original stuff, too.  I've got about 150 pages of one story that I sort of put on hold to write this.  It was such a *small* little plot bunny, too.  Now I've surpassed my original.  I promise I *will* go back to the original once I'm done here.  It's just…  I've *got* to finish it now!  8-)  I *do* love HP.  Quite a compliment indeed.  I must admit, I dream for the day when (notice my optimism?  I'm working on the whole 'positive thinking thing') I get published.  I'd quit my day job and spend all day doing what I now have to squeeze in at 4 a.m. every morning to do (and I'm *not* a morning person).  hehehe.  I look forward to hearing more from you, and seeing if you like where the rest of the chapters are going.  Thank you very much.  I'm working on trying to remember that.  I promise, as soon as I finish my original, to start trying to submit it.  I have to take deep calming breaths, now.  Nope, no anxiety here.  I'd love the Saturn award, personally, although published and paid is the best validation I can think of.  *Please* let this someday be my day job.  8-)  Thanks again for the kind review!

Phoenix:  Okay!  g

LadyFoxFire:  Oooh, bummer.  I'd be going through serious withdrawal.  Well, work is work.  Good deal.  Post soon!

Summersun:  It is.  

Lothey:  Loved it.  I'm making everyone look.  Hope you don't mind!  Trust me.  Reviews are addictive.  

Dabbler:  Yes, they do…  Thanks.

Tanya:  Smiles happily  Thanks!  Good.  I try to throw some humor in, but keep it real. Glad it works.  It's easy to get wrapped up in the angst of it all.  A bit harder to keep the humor.  Wow.  Thank you.  Sadly, it's a life experience that makes it real.  Ah well.  Truth is truth, no matter *what* the medium.  You know what…  I *loved* this insight.  I totally had not thought about that.  Wow.  Hmmm.  I'll get back to you on that…  8-)  

Weird:  Okay.  

PurePsychicEspeon:  (See, I'll answer each time you post)  Congrats!  Thanks for the recommendations.  I think that's how a lot of people found this story.  I know it starts out slow, but I'm reluctant to repost anything until I'm done, even though I've obviously got some corrections to make.  


	27. The Search is On

Disclaimer:  Harry.  Sirius.  Severus.  Dumbledore.  All of them...  Still not mine.  

**Chapter 27**

Remus Lupin was well aware of instinct.  He'd known it intimately for many years.  He'd fought it, resented it, denied it, ignored it, and finally listened to it… and he was uncomfortable with what it was telling him now.  His time teaching at Hogwarts had brought back many memories, both cherished and painful, but none had been as clear as his memories of Sirius as a young man.  

At the time he'd wondered if his own mind had devised some special sort of torment for him.  Why did he still care so deeply for the traitor?  He'd hated himself for wondering what had happened.  How Sirius could have betrayed James and Lily, because for the life of him Remus still couldn't think of a scenario that would have enabled *that* to happen.  

He'd remembered how Sirius had been the one to become an Animagus first.  He'd been the one to make the suggestion that they should find a way to join Remus during the full moon.  James had found the spells, but Sirius had thought it up and was the first to try it.  Peter had come up with the theory of *why* Remus wouldn't eat his friends instead of joining them.  

It had been a terrible risk.  Remus still cringed at the danger his friends had put themselves in.  They didn't understand what it was like, what *he* was like.  The pain was so unbearable…  He lashed out at anything, anyone, everyone… including himself.  

They hadn't told him at the time, of course.  Remus would *never* have let them near him if he'd known.  He refused to tell them where he went to change each full moon, only that he did.  He'd been afraid deep down that they'd want to find a way to help him, that they'd be horrified at the damage he did to himself in the shack and decide it was better to let him run free.  They wouldn't understand his deepest, darkest fears, because who thinks they're mortal at fifteen?  Besides Harry, that is.  Instead, they'd followed Remus and found where Madam Pomfrey took him.    

Upon looking back, it was that same introspection, the clear memories Remus held of the dark haired rogue of a prankster with an enormous heart and the judgment of an oyster, that had allowed him to face Sirius that night in the Shrieking Shack.  

It was the night Sirius broke Ron Weasley's leg as he dragged him down the tunnel, determined once and for all to avenge James and Lily by killing Peter.  It was also the same night Remus himself had changed and nearly killed Harry, Ron and Hermione.  He had *known* it was coming, he could always feel the pull of the moon days before, but Sirius was near Hogwarts, and Harry had been in danger.  

Remus had learned so much about Harry as he taught him how to make a Patronus.  Until then, Harry had simply been a more thoughtful carbon copy of James with Lily's eyes.  He'd been the haunting reminder of all that Remus had lost, all that indeed Harry had lost.  But Remus hadn't *known* Harry.  He'd seen the boy and the pain, but not the natural reserves of strength.  The day Harry approached Remus after class…  Harry's quiet determination to face his darkest fears, the mix of horror at hearing his parents' screams and yet the quiet desperation that at least now Harry remembered *something*, even if that memory was enough to render him unconscious.  

Remus recognized the way even a casual remark about knowing Harry's parents had sent him hungrily looking for answers, answers Remus had been unwilling to give.   Remus knew Harry would face whatever danger there was, and do it willingly, and that when it came to learning more about his parents, he'd stop at nothing.  

It was with this knowledge that Remus had taken the gamble to go out… a gamble he'd lost, nearly costing him more than he could face.  Although the events of that night allowed him to finally answer his own question;  Sirius *hadn't* done it, and Remus' instincts had been right; Remus found he now had recurring nightmares of the look on Harry's face as he'd felt the transformation begin, and the dawning realization in Sirius' eyes as he turned into Padfoot to protect the children.  

The joy of having his best friend absolved had brought its own pain, of course.  The pain that James hadn't trusted Remus, that Remus had *believed* Sirius had done it…  So many things now sat between Remus and his best friend.  Not that Sirius didn't carry his own guilt.  Sirius' knowledge of how the Dursleys treated Harry had been a tremendous blow.  The question that still ate at Sirius, that he worried on in his nightmares, was why he'd gone for Peter instead of trying to help Harry?

Remus had always felt a closer kinship to James than he had to Sirius in school.  James was kind and friendly.  He was smart and funny.  He naturally made those around him comfortable, and for whatever reason, he seemed to bring the best out of everyone.  James had been insanely good at Quidditch, and he seemed drawn to befriend those in pain.  

Remus still remembered the day James had confessed his crush on Lily, blushing furiously even as he couldn't contain himself, talking about how beautiful she was.  Remus had been profoundly honored to be the first to know.  Normally Sirius would  have been, but James hadn't wanted to deal just yet with the playful teasing and jibes Sirius would inevitably have given.  Instead, he'd turned to Remus, who'd listened with an amazed ear as James spoke nearly poetically about someone who only the year before he'd spent a great deal of time pulling pranks on.  In retrospect, Remus was surprised he'd missed what *that* had meant.

Remus had always been known as the calm one, the even tempered Marauder.  He was the voice of reason to Sirius' temper, the logic to James' ideas, the sounding board for Peter's sensitivity.  Peter was the mad thinker… too strange to blend in with everyone, too awkward to ever feel comfortable in class, and too creative not to forever stand out as the outsider, the strange one.  

Remus had loved Sirius dearly, but he'd never understood him.  Sirius' moods were like the weather: one look was all you needed.  If he felt something, you knew it.  If he thought it, well… there was no filter between his mouth and his brain, and the words got the Marauders all into more trouble than James' schemes ever could.  

But three days of following Crookshanks, of running through forests and rivers and across Muggle highways had caused Remus to realize that the wolf in Remus now understood Sirius far better than the man did.  

Remus rode Harry's broom with an Obscuro Charm on it and Harry's invisibility cloak wrapped tightly around him, following the streaking orange Kneazle and the bounding black dog who looked more like a Grim each passing day.  

This was about the hunt, and the kill.  This was about protecting Harry, at any and all costs.  If Sirius were even a fraction like this as an Auror, he must have been frightening indeed.  Sirius only stopped when Crookshanks did, eating fast enough that Remus doubted he tasted anything, and only falling asleep when it became clear Crookshanks refused to go any further for the night.  If the wolf could speak, Remus knew it would have said it was about Pack.  

Remus had long ago stopped puzzling over where Crookshanks was going.  He never stopped to sniff the air or track a scent.  He ran south and appeared to know exactly where he was going.  Sirius had tried to get the Kneazle to permit him to Apparate a dozen kilometers at a time, but Crookshanks refused.  Remus wondered whether it would have disoriented whatever it was he appeared to be tracking Wormtail with.  

Now, as Remus fought off the fatigue and exhaustion as he anxiously sat in the Weasley living room, he marveled at what Dumbledore had spilled in a mad rush, anxious to send Remus on his way.  Remus was bewildered by the strange spell Dumbledore had described, his fingers just itching to go look up the specifics of it, and decided early on that he wasn't going to tell Sirius about it until he had to.  *He* had certainly never heard of the spell, and was rather proud of his obscure spell knowledge.  

He'd only been at the Burrow for five minutes and already Ron had briefed him on the discovery of Memory Charms in communities known to be strictly wizarding.  Remus had told them of Dumbledore's visit to Azkaban, and that Harry now had potions to keep him going.  He didn't mention about becoming an Animagus, but the promise of it hung unspoken between them.  

"Charlie, do you still have a spare dragon hide vest?" Bill Weasley called from upstairs.  

"Yeah, I've got two.  They're in my trunk on the left hand side," Charlie yelled from the dining room and smiled gratefully at Remus.  "He'll be just a moment," he said, nodding his head towards the kitchen where Arthur and Molly Weasley were currently talking.  "They knew them apparently."  Remus' eyes widened.  Charlie answered the unspoken question.  "Deirdre Barnes was two years ahead of dad at Hogwarts," he explained.

"I'm sorry," Remus said.  Charlie nodded.

"Yeah.  Me, too," he replied.  

"Where is he?" Molly asked loudly, and Remus watched Ron frown.  He glanced at Charlie.  

"Who're they waiting for?" Ron asked him.  

"Percy's supposed to come," Charlie replied.  Ron's scowl clearly indicated that his brother was far from forgiven.  

Bill ran down the steps, skipping several at a time with his arms in the air as he threw on one of Charlie's vests.  He threw the other to his brother who caught it deftly.  

"Don't go out in public in one of those.  You'll start a trend and I'll have to defend my dragons from poachers," Charlie joked light heartedly to ease the tension in the room.  Bill snorted.  

"Hardly.  Like *they* need protecting," Bill replied and eyed the fresh burns on Charlie's forearms to make his point.  

"So you hope to get there before the Ministry, right?" Hermione asked, startling the brothers.  She'd been extremely quiet since Remus had broken the news to Arthur about the Barnes.  

"What will you do when the Ministry gets there?  They'll investigate the reports of a Dark Mark sighting and start using Memory Charms like crazy.  If you fight them and lose, no one tells the tale," she said.  Ron slowly turned to face her, his face flitting through a variety of emotions before finally settling on shock.  

"Blimey.  You've still got her," Ron stated.  Remus looked at the two teens in confusion, and glanced at Bill and Charlie.  They both looked bewildered as well.  Hermione nodded and leaped off the couch.  

"Don't go yet," Hermione called over her shoulder as she ran full speed upstairs.  Remus looked at Ron intently, but he still appeared a bit dazed.  In less than a minute Hermione came running downstairs again with a small jelly jar in her hand.  A small beetle was buzzing angrily inside, and Remus had absolutely *no* idea what she was going to do next.  

"You'll need proof.  A witness.  Someone to show the wizarding world that the Ministry of Magic is covering things up.  You need a reporter," she said.  Remus nodded.

"Unfortunately, we don't have that kind of time," Remus replied.  Hermione shook her head.  

"No need.  I've got one here," she said.  

"You know, I'm not surprised they employ beetles at the Daily Prophet, too.  I already knew they employed blood sucking leeches," Charlie said with feeling.  Bill glanced at his brother, and Remus looked at Charlie in surprise.  He'd actually seemed the more amicable of the two.  

"Bad press for the dragons," Bill said quietly, seeing Remus' expression.  _Ah._

"No, no.  An unregistered Animagus capable of getting the exclusive story," Hermione said, a slight smile on her face.  

"I can't believe you've still got her," Ron said, still in shock.  

"I didn't trust her not to say horrible things, so I wanted to make sure she knew I was serious," Hermione said.  

"Who?" Remus said.  

"Rita Skeeter," Ron and Hermione said in unison, and if possible the beetle buzzed even more angrily in the jar than before.  Hermione frowned fiercely at the jar for a moment, holding it up to her face.  

"Now's your chance.  You get an exclusive the *honest* way… being in the right place at the right time," Hermione said with an evil relish, then scowled and shook the jar fiercely for a couple of seconds as the beetle continued to protest.  "I'll have none of your nonsense, now," Hermione said, and the solid thud of the bug against the glass sounded rather painful.  

"You're terrifying," Ron said, his eyes wide.  Charlie and Bill had eager looks on their faces.  

"Well, open it.  Let's see," Charlie said with enthusiasm.  Hermione unscrewed the lid and the beetle quickly flew out, heading directly towards the window.  In an instant, Remus' wand was out as he summoned her back and used a relatively painless spell he'd found to force her out of her Animagus form.

Remus stared in astonishment at the intimidating looking older woman wobbling in front of them, her bright skirt seeming to blend right in with the color scheme of the Burrow.  

"Beastly!  This sort of behavior is inexcusable!  I'm going to report this…" Rita Skeeter began, glaring at Hermione.  

"No you're not.  Fudge has been covering up Death Eater attacks.  These men are going to go to investigate a reported sight before this happens," Hermione said, waving her arms at Bill, Charlie and Remus.  "If you're lucky, you'll get proof of the Ministry of Magic's involvement in a cover up of giant proportions.  If you're not… you're free.  So which is it?  Trial for unethical reporting and illegal abuse of Animagus abilities, or the exclusive of your dreams?" Hermione asked, not intimidated in the least.  A vein on the side of Rita Skeeter's face began to bulge alarmingly, but she didn't say anything.  

"There's only one condition," Hermione said after a moment, and reached out her hand, palm up.  "Hand it over," she said.  

"What?" Rita Skeeter asked, automatically stepping back a step, her eyes narrowing and her lips thin.  Remus gathered the woman knew exactly what Hermione was talking about.  

"You know *what*.  Hand it over.  You can have one of mine if you need a quill," Hermione said, curling her fingers toward her in a 'gimme' gesture, and Remus watched as Rita Skeeter reluctantly handed over a quill with the writing _Quick Quotes Quill on the side.  _

"Sorry I'm late.  Fudge caught me in the hall.  I don't think he's heard anything yet…" Percy said as he stepped from the fireplace.  Arthur and Molly Weasley came out of the kitchen and stopped dead in their tracks as they stared at Rita Skeeter.  Percy quickly followed suit, his jaw slack in surprise.  Remus noted the cool looks both Charlie and Bill gave Percy before their eyes again returned to the furious reporter in front of them.

"I know you.  You're that woman that wrote those horrible lies!" Molly said and immediately began to stalk towards Rita Skeeter menacingly.  Charlie and Bill quickly jumped into action, placing themselves in front of the reporter.  

"Mum!  Whoa, mum.  Take it easy.  She's going to be our witness and publish what the Ministry's doing to cover up the murders," Bill said, refusing to step out of Molly's way.  

"Hermione kept her as a pet for a while.  I think she's been punished enough," Charlie said lightly, eyeing Molly's wand hand warily.  So far it didn't hold a wand, but that could change at any moment.  Hermione glared at Charlie.    

"Hey, I treat pets well…  Well, at least her.  I never had a pet before," Hermione amended, then smiled wickedly as Rita Skeeter paled a bit at Hermione's statement.  "Lucky you.  You're my first pet," Hermione said with relish.  Remus suppressed a smile as Ron tried to inconspicuously edge back a step.  

"So, you'll stay here.  Bill, Remus, Charlie and I will go to Arvel and Deirdre's place.  Thanks for coming so quick," Arthur said, and placed a hand on Percy's shoulder.  Remus watched as Arthur glanced at Bill and Charlie respectively, noting their dragon hide vests and nodding in approval.  Dragon hide helped repel some particularly nasty curses.  

"Good choice for tonight, boys," Arthur said, then turned his attention to Rita Skeeter.  "I know who you are.  We're risking a lot to even show you what we're trying to prove.  Don't make us have to protect ourselves," he said, his voice soft and gentle.  Oddly, it was far more menacing that Molly's anger had been.  Rita Skeeter blanched at the tone, and her eyes flicked from his earnest expression to that of Bill and Charlie.  Charlie nodded, adding his own unspoken voice to the threat as well.  Bill simply raised an eyebrow.  It was enough.  _This is no game.  Remus watched as Ron looked from his father to Rita Skeeter and seemed to come to some sort of conclusion.  He nodded in approval.  _

"Get out of here, dad.  She'll do fine.  She'd sell her firstborn for a good story, and I *guarantee* you've got a good story," Ron said reassuringly to Arthur.  Rita Skeeter shot Ron a half grateful, half irritated look but wisely said nothing.  Remus stood at the fireplace with his wand drawn.  

"So are we ready then?" Remus asked Arthur.  His instincts were gnawing at him.  _Time's running out.  Arthur glanced at Bill and Charlie, who nodded grimly.  _

"There's a pub less than a kilometer away we can Floo to, and go from there," Arthur said.  Bill and Charlie nodded and quickly followed Arthur into the flames.  Rita Skeeter walked forward, casting one final hateful look at Hermione before she too disappeared.  Hermione appeared completely unruffled.  As Remus followed Rita Skeeter, the last thing he heard as he left the Burrow was Ron's comment to Hermione.  

"Remind me not to make you angry," he said.  Remus suppressed a faint smile.  The satisfying sound of Rita Skeeter bouncing against the glass jar sides and metal lid would serve to warm his heart for many days to come.  Yes, he agreed with Ron.  Hermione *was* rather scary.  

**********************************************************************

Percy watched as his mother absently stirred her morning tea.  She still wore her nightgown and robe, her bright red hair in a rushed bun with strands sticking out everywhere.  She looked exhausted, but her slippered feet tapped incessantly against the rung of her chair.  The family clock was set directly in front of her as she alternately glanced between it and the window above the sink to watch the garden gnomes outside.  

Ginny had already interrogated Percy about just what all the acronyms were on the parchments his siblings and Hermione continued to sort through.  Ron had a few insightful questions, and Hermione had some ideas about procedure that Percy had never thought of, but sounded quite clever.  She'd mentioned that they were used by Muggles, and Percy winced at the thought of how pleased his dad would have been to learn more about it.  

So far, none of the hands on the clock were at Mortal Peril, but it didn't help the knot in Percy's stomach or the tension that clenched his jaw painfully.  He'd fled the glares in the dining room, desperate for a little peace before facing their antagonistic faces again.  He knew his input was invaluable to their search, but he just needed… something.  He missed his dad already, especially as he realized the tension that remained between him and his mother.  Oddly enough, he'd thought his father would be the hardest to speak with about forgiveness.  Now he wished the talk he was about to have was already over with.  

"Quit grinding your teeth," Molly Weasley said absently.  Percy forced his jaw to unclench and smiled slightly in apology.  _No better time than now, Percy thought.  _

"Sorry," Percy replied.  His mother nodded.  "I haven't really had a chance to talk to you since…  since…" Percy said, and realized how awful what he was about to say really sounded.  _Since the Aurors I sent attacked the house.  Since the people I sent hurt you and George and took a defenseless boy to Azkaban.  _

Percy had been much happier without the memories of Harry's interrogation.  The thought of Fudge's cruelty, and how they'd nearly killed him made Percy feel nauseous and foul.  The desperate promise Percy had casually made now rang in his ears at every odd moment.  

_Promise they find out the truth.  The testimony he'd found in his sleeve was nothing to the memory of the talk he had with Harry beforehand.  __He knew what was about to happen.  He knew it.  I led him to it.  He should have been angry with me.  Why wasn't he?  That more than anything bothered Percy profoundly.  His family's rage he could weather.  Harry's trusting eyes as he asked for one last promise of reassurance insured that Percy hadn't been able to sleep more than an hour or so at a time without waking up in a cold sweat.  He could very well be the death of Harry, and yet even at the last moment the boy had looked to Percy for help.  He wanted to curl up in a ball and cry.  _

"Since?" his mother prompted.  Percy started.  He hadn't finished his sentence.  

"Since I was so horribly wrong," Percy replied.  His mother looked at his face searchingly.  

"We haven't really talked about this, have we?" she asked him.  Percy shook his head.  

"Are you sure you want to now?" she asked.  _That doesn't bode well.  Percy nodded.  "Would you like to begin, or shall I?" she asked.  Percy shrugged.  She frowned at him for a moment.  _

"Perhaps you should," he said, knowing anything he said would be inadequate, but dreading her words.  She nodded.  

"I love you, Percy," his mother said.  _Not an auspicious beginning.  "What would you like me to say?" she asked.  _

"Tell me how you feel.  I hate *this*," he said, gesturing at her then himself.  "I've never been in this position before.  I don't know how to make up for this," Percy said candidly.  Molly Weasley looked tired as she smiled gently, and Percy noted her eyes slid over the family clock once before returning to him.  

"There's nothing to make up, Percy.  What's done is done," she said wearily.  Percy closed his eyes for a moment, as the memory that *his* old room now stood empty, the gesture of the gift of family to Harry having been so thoroughly destroyed.  

"I hate this, mum.  What can I do?" Percy asked, the desperation raw in his voice as he spoke candidly with her.  He knew he sounded needy, but he couldn't seem to help himself.  Not when he saw Harry's pleading eyes every time he closed his own.  _Promise…  He certainly could have done without getting *those* memories back._

"We've all done things in our life we're not proud of, Percy…  This isn't a burden easily lifted," she said.  Percy closed his eyes tiredly.  

"I want to make it better between us," he said and knew he sounded like a child, but didn't care.  He knew how the rest of his family felt, and he understood.  He respected it.  But the anxiety he felt at the realization of how much he'd hurt his own parents burned inside him, and made him crave *any* sort of reassurance that they'd move on, get past this, and he could have the family back he'd taken for granted all his life.  His father had forgiven him.  He'd not expected it, but the relief he felt was profound.  The brief clasp of his father's hand on Percy's shoulder before he left last night was enough to keep Percy going in the face of Fred, Ron and Hermione's open hostility and George's wariness…  But not his mother's distant expression.  

"You can't Percy.  I wish you could," Molly Weasley said sadly and sipped at her tea.  She turned to face Percy, and he felt like he should brace himself.  "It's not easy to look down the business end of an Auror's wand, trying to defend an innocent boy who *your son* wrongly put in jeopardy," she said after a moment.  Percy felt like he'd been physically slapped.  His breath came in a gasp, but he dared not say a word and waited for her to continue.  

"I've always respected how you've held tight to your ideals, Percy.  It takes a lot to stand by your convictions.  Merlin knows your brothers have mocked you enough for it," his mother said.  Percy watched as her eyes instinctively drifted to the clock again then returned to his face.  "I don't know quite what to say.  As I tried to defend Harry from those men, I realized something I hope never in my life to *ever* have to face again," she said, and Percy watched as she took a calming breath.  Her lower lip had begun to tremble.  She sipped again at her tea, and the trembling ceased.  Percy forgot to breathe.  

"I wondered if you would have done the same thing to one of us," she said, her eyes dark with pain.  "You're so staunch in your beliefs, Percy.  Do any of them involve us?" she asked.  The pain within the question made Percy's throat contract with unshed tears.  He understood what she really meant.  _Your family would defend you to the death.  They'd do anything for you.  Can you say the same?  Percy knew what the answer *would* have been, even a couple of days ago.  He'd been so stupid.  _

"They do now," Percy replied, unashamed of the tears that fell freely now.  He grimaced to keep from sobbing and faced his mother.  

"Some lessons are harder than others to learn.  I just hope this one doesn't cost Harry his life," Molly Weasley said, and thankfully left unspoken the jeopardy his father and brothers were in even now in their desperate bid to gather evidence against the Ministry.  

Although her words were brutally honest, his mother's arms reached out and pulled Percy close.  He began to cry in earnest against her chest as his feelings of failure and guilt seemed to nearly consume him.  He wrapped his own arms around his mother and held tight, afraid she'd slip away, profoundly grateful for the hug and yet feeling unworthy of it.  He didn't deserve this…  But he damn well intended to start trying to.  

"I love you, Percy.  Shhhh," she said and began to rock Percy back and forth gently.  "You're safe, you're home, you're with family," she said reassuringly.  Percy realized he was only now beginning to understand just how important that was.  

**TBC…**

ShelaghC: Sirius is coming, but not quite yet?  Was Remus' insight enough for you for now?  8-)  Quite a few, actually.  Actually, you have a valid point.  It never occurred to me that *that* might be specifically American.  Nope, you're not making a fool of yourself.  Point taken.  g  I'll work on that.

Tanya:  Well, thank you very much.  I worried about this chapter.  Certain parts of a story are pivotal, and once you're reached and written it… what comes afterwards seems almost disappointing.  I'm glad you didn't feel that way.  8-)  Nope, Severus doesn't work that way.  His relationships are strictly on his own terms.  Yes, I'm looking forward to that as well.  Good point.  How *can* you hate a boy who's gone through what he has?  No… wait… he hates Neville, too.  Okay.  Forget that statement…  (In truth, I know it's because he's so mortally offended by how badly Neville botches up his potions).  Thanks for seeing that.  Harry wasn't suicidal, but he read Severus' reluctance and didn't want another death on his head… even if it meant his own.  Thanks.  True, but *hope* carries Harry great distances.  Wow.  That's quite a compliment.  You honor me with it.  Thank you.  G

Laterose, Julie (Glad you made an exception), Vmr, Lei Dumbledore (You're wish is my command), Jenna (Thanks.  I liked that touch as well g), Heather (Perhaps…  We'll see… g  Oh, and your wish is my command), Scribe, SpiderGirl05, WeasleyTwinsLover1112 (me too!), Mrs. Moony, sk8reagle, Anoni (I agree.  Hopefully, that will change.  I'm really glad I didn't confuse you.  I did my wonderful beta the first draft…g), Elektra (You'll definitely get more insight into Harry's mind soon!), Phoenix, AllAboutMe (lol), LittleEar BigEar's sis, Sakura Blossom (G Thank you so much!!), Doom Song (Poor Peter. It sucks to be him, doesn't it?), Akasha (glad to hear it!  Thanks!),  teazer (I thought so too.  Glad you liked it!), Kate Potter (actually, they already knew…),  Sailor Sol, Tempest Princess: Amy (ummm.  Working on that…), LaminaCourt (Well, I post pretty often so you shouldn't be kept hanging for too long), ratgirl G, x-woman (hmmm.  We'll see if I get a chance, but I'll try), kapies, anonymous, Akasha, sunnycouger (oooh.  Good luck with that.  Hope I didn't cause you to lose too much sleep.  I *hate* when I do that.), and Evie (Wow.  Thank you!):  Thanks to all who reviewed, and for all the nice compliments.  The spell appears to have gone over well, and I'm getting some terrific ideas for Harry's Animagus form (*if* he ever takes one).  Thanks again, and hope you've enjoyed the chapter!

Wonder:  Thanks!  I'm thrilled to hear that.  Yes, but will it be in time?  8-)  I appreciate that.  So far, all the feedback is good, so I guess it went over well.  I agree.  What a burden for Harry to carry!  If it's any consolation, they do mine as well…  Now get writing!  Remember, the more you do it, the better you'll get!

Lothey:  G  Hmmm.  Good suggestion.  You'll see what happens (*if* it happens) soon, and I promise my reasons afterwards as well.  Excellent suggestions though.  Thanks!  I won't leave you hanging too long on whether or not you get that beer.

Heggarty Haggarty:  G  Thanks!  Oooh, I'm pleased you like them.  Ron's a hard one, because he does have a bit of a temper.  I try to insure he doesn't seem too shallow, because he's not.  He just gets carried away sometimes.  Very true.  Hopefully Dumbledore will get it back.  Hopefully.  8-)  Oh, the full stops thing was before I figured out how to upload italics.  Hopefully, the story reads smoother in later chapters.  I just don't want to repost and lose my reviews until I've saved them.  The input and suggestions have been invaluable.  Soooo, hope it's better now!  Enjoy!  

Nicky:  Thanks!  I have some definite plans about *what* Severus will learn about Harry, and from Harry, too…  8-)  I promise you'll hear from me soon, but I'll be out of town for a couple of days.  Soon, though!

Kaydee:  Wow!  That was quite a review!  Hehehehe.  Caught that, did you?  I might have.  I find it quite cute.  g  I don't perceive it that way.  This is your way of telling me what *reached* you, what tripped something within you that you related to.  I think it's great… especially when it's something I'm especially proud of myself 8-).  It's okay.  You certainly made up for it with *this* review!  Quite a visual image, there!  I have cliffies, but we're not to the big stuff, yet…  8-)  Very true.  But her postponements prompted me to write this, so in a way I'm glad, too.  Very true.  Imagine his horror at realizing he has something in common with *her*.  Very astute.  Hated that book myself.  Would rather not picture us that way.  Thanks. Barnes spoke to me for such a little part.  Nope, never read that story.  Ummm, maybe not right away.  Read The Lottery a long time ago.  Thought it was rather intriguing, if a bit bleak.  True… just playing devil's advocate.  Actually, it's Voldemort talking to *Barnes*.  They're pleading for their life and asking what they've done wrong.  He says he can't believe they *don't* know.  It amazes him how the Barnes' could even perceive of marrying between witches and muggles.  He's communed a death sentence, and thinks the people he's carrying that sentence out on *realize* what they've done, but just won't admit it.  

Moonlight Yellow:  There's a club out there you can join.  They share your sentiments… g  Of course not.  Perhaps I am?  Bwah hah hah hah hah.  At least, I wish I had his voice… In female version, of course.  That's not wrong… is it?  I don't visualize Snape hating teaching.  He would just hate teaching young children.  He would be great at teaching advanced studies to minds eager to learn what he has to teach, though.  See, of course the Slytherins want to learn.  And not for the Healing Potions, either.  *Poor* Harry is definitely an understatement.  Yeah, I don't foresee Snape mocking Harry when his scar hurts any more.  Hmmm.  Perhaps he already knew…  I don't see Severus coming from a happy home himself, honestly.  Oh, I don't think he cared.  Perhaps he even preferred it that way.  Thanks!  Glad you liked the bond.  I'm glad I was able to convey that.  Oooh.  I'll bet.  Of course I love all praise about my Snape.  Hehehehe.  It means I've been able to convey what it is I love about him.  Well, I couldn't do that… but I *will* definitely get back to my own fics!  Thanks for your vote though.  For me, the joy of writing about characters I love, and reading all the great reviews, has been payment and joy enough.  Glad you gave another long review!  Look forward to your imput on the next chapter as well.  8-)

Webweaver:  Thanks!  I can't tell…  True.  Glad I kept it fresh enough that you couldn't predict it!  

PurePsychicEspeon:  You are most welcome.  I'm grateful for the reviews.  Ahhhh, well thanks for the referral!  The more the merrier!  Thanks.  Ah, we all have our favorites.  I've been known to do it, too.  Hehehehe.  I've been getting a lot of requests (and pleas of what *not* to do) for Harry's Animagus form.  You're all pretty optimistic he'll even be able to do it ::ducks tomatoes thrown at author::  Kidding!  Or not.  We'll see.  But *if* it does happen, I'll put a little note at the bottom explaining why, okay? 8-)  Some of the suggestions have been quite clever, though.  And more than a little fun.  I don't think he's in any danger of turning into a bug… I'll say that much!  8-)

Gypsy Romand:  Oooooh.  That's quite a compliment.  Thanks!  8-)  Snape's a hard one to gauge, isn't he?  True, Dumbledore does.  But it's because he has to, to a certain extent.  Even Snape is a pawn, if you look at it that way.  Nope, I haven't read it.  Hmmm.  Okay, then I'll take it for the compliment it is.  Thanks. g  I know.  Harry just can't win, can he?  Neither can I.  ::giggles::  Okay, it's not every day I'm compared to a god.  G  Well, hope you enjoyed this chapter as well.  Thanks for all the kind words!

Goldenfire:  lol  Yes, I wasn't kidding when I placed it in the Angst category, did I?  Glad you like it.  I most certainly intend to.  

Colleen:  Thanks!!  Yes, Snape definitely inspires me to think *snarky* thoughts.  I know exactly what you're referring to.  He's what many would describe as prickly on the outside, and mushy on the inside… only no one knows this except perhaps Dumbledore… and he's more in tune with the Gallows humor than anything else.  No worries on that.  You're conveying your thoughts just fine.  lol  A goal, perhaps?  8-)  True.  We'll see…  You know what?  I do too.  I wish I could write regular original fiction that way.  I think it helps think of all the angles (the whole 'Forest for the Trees' concept).  biiiig smile here  Thanks.  That really means a lot.  As it is, I'm feeling the pressure to finish my story before Book 5 comes out, because it will make all *this* obsolete.  Ah well.  Twas but a moment in time…

Aniwda:  Yes, it did.  I'm glad you stuck with it, though!  Yep, it makes sense.  You can't miss a Snape thought, can you?  g  Hmmm.  Yes, I feel the *thoughts* of character aren't appropriate in the third person.  Not for *direct* thoughts, anyway.  A person isn't going to think; _She__ didn't think so.  It's too distancing.  She thought,  __I__ don't think so, has much more impact.  But, I could be violating rules I'm not aware of.  Call it artistic license, wouldya?  8-)  Wow.  Cool! (Is it wrong to be pleased I made someone cry?  I don't mean it bad.  Honest)  hehehehe_

Celebony:  Thank you.  I totally agree.  I don't buy it.  Snape's not going to do a 180 just because of a little angst.  He's not like that.  And *no*, you're in no danger of Harry calling Snape 'dad' in this fic! G.  Thank you very much!

Mara Arwen Black-McGregor:  Thank you very much!  I agree.  Heck, I think Harry's wise beyond *my* years, and that's saying something.  I love Sirius, too.   Poor guy.  Hehehe.  I've answered that question now. Thanks.  I try to keep it light, too…  I *very* much appreciate the compliment.  Nothing wrong with obsessions…  ahem  I mean, I've written about 218 pages of Harry Potter so far.  Me?  Obsessed?  8-)  Thanks!


	28. Insight

**Disclaimer:  Sooooooooooooo not my story.  Sooooooooo wish it was.  Sigh  **

**Chapter 28**

I sit at the edge of my bed, my toes curled within my slippers against the cold that seems to have permeated every fiber of my body.  Since last night, when I was thrown from Potter's dream, Pomfrey has been plying me with my ***own* healing potions to strengthen my reserves.  _And she doesn't understand why I'm skeptical of her abilities…Unfortunately, the healing potions do nothing for the painful, hollow emptiness that reeks from my bond with Potter.  I suspect it's because he's unconscious._**

No one understands why I love the dungeons as much as I do, and I'm certainly not inclined to enlighten them.  _Hogwarts is safe, people say.  __It's a last bastion of Light against the ever encroaching darkness.  Lovely sentiment.  Absolute hogwash.  I've met Voldemort… and Dumbledore's Defense Against Dark Arts professors… Believe me when I tell you Hogwarts is ***far* from secure.  Mountain trolls, basilisks,  Voldemort himself carried within Quirrell, Crouch….  **__Hurmph.  _

Moving staircases, secret passageways, hidden rooms…  ***Where* they got the idea Hogwarts was safe is beyond me, but I don't disabuse them of the notion.  _Dumbledore propaganda.  Ah well, it serves me well enough.  The passageways, the tunnels, the rooms in the dungeons below are known to me as intimately as my own heartbeat.  The alarm spells and monitoring charms I've placed throughout insure that *should* Hogwarts be breached, I _****will not be caught by surprise.  **

But now my own precious dungeons, _my haven, has become hauntingly cold and dank… far too reminiscent of Azkaban for my liking.  The memory of Potter convulsing, caught within the throes of the Cruciatus Curse as the Barnes couple was tortured has brought back a memory of my own… a memory I wish I had thought of *right* before checking on Potter rather than hours in advance.  _

I vividly recall Potter's confessed fear to his friends that *if* he stayed within his nightmares instead of waking up, suffering though them to their logical conclusion, that he might die as well.  As I'm still here, I assume he's alive.  I also remember, back when I had the luxury of simply *observing* Potter as opposed to having to interact with him, wondering if the pain he felt was of the same intensity as the curse itself.  I finally have my answer…  _Yes.  _

I'm rather an expert witness of just what the Cruciatus feels like, and my few shared moments with Potter have answered it irrevocably.  The potions Pomfrey has fed me are **specifically for dealing with the after effects of Cruciatus, so even the post curse symptoms all remain the same.  **

This has led me to some frightening conclusions… and also some intriguing questions.  _How on Earth is Potter even alive?!  I admit.  This bothers me… intellectually, of course.  He's been suffering Dark Magic curses now for months.  How is he not mad?  How is he still functioning?  __Well, how ***was* he still functioning, **__before being brought to Azkaban?  And, now that the Dementors force Potter to remain within his nightmares, what kind of condition will I find him in?  _

I close my eyes and sigh as I kick off my slippers and slip into bed.  Albus charmed my sheets to keep them warm.  I'm embarrassingly touched by his thoughtfulness.  _Sentiment.  Pah.  I suspect it's the bond I now share with Potter that has caused my perpetual chill.  I cannot seem to get warm.  Even the large fire within my fireplace seems washed out and ineffectual.  _

I glance at the clock against my wall.  It's two minutes closer to Potter's meal than when I last looked.  In a few moments the Dementors should retreat briefly to allow the prisoners their meals.  This is my window of opportunity to insure Potter eats and is filled with healing potions before we begin the arduous task of teaching him to become an Animagus.   ***_If*__ he can become an Animagus.  I'll just continue to operate on the likelihood that he can.  __After all, he *_****is* the Boy Who Lived.  _Of *course* he'll be an Animagus.  Well, I suppose it's close enough to mealtime to check on the boy.  __I'm not worried.  I'm not.  _**

The bond I sensed so vaguely before beats now like a thready heartbeat.  _Like *his* thready heartbeat.  I follow it easily.  It's as if, even unconscious as I can now sense where he is, he draws me to him, and I am simply holding on to the proverbial rope.  The screams within his mind are gone, leaving behind an eerie silence.  All that manifests itself as distinctly *Potter* is still.  No emotions, no sentiments, no thoughts.  __Don't let him be in a coma.  As I leave my own body further behind, I feel his unspoken permission envelop me as I slip into his skin.  ****__Yes.  The pain, the aches, the utter agony of being Potter absorbs me once again, and I nearly lose consciousness myself.  I pride myself on having a high tolerance for pain.  Call it an occupational hazard.  ***This* takes suffering to a new threshold.  **__I suppose I'll have to take Potter more seriously when he says he's hurt, I realize reluctantly.  How disappointing.  _

I can no longer delineate what hurts and what doesn't.  Breathing, moving, not moving; all of it hurts.  Potter's muscles burn and cramp, his skin sears, nerves pulse with a hateful life of their own, and all the while an ice pick is slipped **right between my eyes where Potter's scar is.  As I slip further into Potter's body, I tentatively try to flex his fingers as my own.  Air fills my lungs and I cough painfully.  My fingernails **_his fingernails** grind against stone… __Stone?  I try to open my eyes and find they're dry and gritty.  __He's dehydrated.  My lips are wet, though.  Frowning, I struggle again to open my eyes and see… a blur.  __You're eyesight is atrocious, Potter.  A faint moan escapes Potter's lips as I struggle to move.  __Oh.  That's me.  I blink repeatedly, and wonder if the rocky beaches of Azkaban have been pounded into Potter's eyes and mouth.  The granules of sand grind against my teeth annoyingly as I try to swallow.  _**

The metallic taste of blood hits me_.  Blood?  I wipe my mouth and struggle to raise my hands ridiculously close to my face in order to be able to see them.  Red fingertips swim into view.  I wipe Potter's face again and look closely at the color of the blood.  Good, it's not a frothy pink.  It's red and slightly diluted with saliva…  __He's bleeding from the mouth, then, not the lungs.  I swish his tongue around and hiss in pain as fresh blood fills my mouth.  __Yes, it's the tongue alright.  I use Potter's hands to press against his ribs, just in case.  __No broken ribs then.  Good.  Dumbledore's proverbs must be getting to me.  __Better safe than sorry.  __Annoying man.  I struggle to look around the tiny cell.  __We *really* must do something about that eyesight __of yours, Potter. Not that I expect to see anything new, but it helps my mind to focus beyond his pain.  __So how did you end up on the floor? I ask the boy silently. __ During the Cruciatus, perhaps?  Convulsions during his nightmare might have thrown him off the mattress and caused him to bite his tongue__.  Hmmm.  Yes, that seems likely.  _

Annoyed at Potter's appalling lack of vision… I pause at my own thoughts.  _Appalling lack of vision.  Heh.  I've always held a keen appreciation for the ironic.  I flap my arms around Potter's body like a child making angels in the snow in search for Potter's glasses as I've realized I don't stand a chance of finding them otherwise.  A plastic scratching sound catches my attention, and the cold frames brush against my wrist.  __Ah, there you are.  I reach to my side **__Potter's side** and with trembling hands drag them across the floor to then place his glasses onto my face.  I turn myself over and  try to take a deep breath.  Instead, I cough painfully once again.  __Air is so underrated.  Especially when you can barely breathe.  I realize, now that I'm moving around, I can hear Potter's breath rattling and whistling noisily.  I notice the band of tension wrapped around his ribs and groan.  __Lovely.  Let's add pneumonia to that list.  _

I brace myself against the metal frame of the bed and pull Potter's body up.  The exertion in my **his** arms is so great that it takes all my will to keep my grip as I reach Potter's other hand within the mattress.  My vials remain intact and protected.  _Of course.  Hmmm.   I inspect the vials trying to decide which combinations would be best.  Potions for Post Cruciatus, dehydration, food supplementation….  Pain relief, Pepper Up, nerve repair…  There's so much to fix.  I swallow quickly from each with all with the ease of someone who's drank foul tasting substances for most of their life.  __I certainly didn't waste any efforts hiding their acrid taste, I realize with a silent snort, and decide Potter would appreciate the irony that ***I* have to enjoy the taste of my own bitter creations.  **_

The food, **_No__, gruel, sits in a metal tray across the room beside a thick clay goblet.  __How do you expect him to reach his food?  Rage rises up within me with an intensity that surprises me.  He can barely stay conscious.  __How on earth do they expect him to eat?  The answer stuns me.  __Of course.  They don't._**

"You'll bring the next tray and drink and set them **on Potter's bed," I hiss in Potter's voice.  It sounds frighteningly sinister, and I feel Potter's lip curl with my anger.  "You'll leave his charmed blankets alone, and you'll bring his tray ****to his bed because it's evident he cannot reach it on his own," I snarl to the house elves I suspect are still lurking about.  I don't know if they are following protocol or orders, and I don't care.  I know the little buggers can hear me.**

Potter's voice filled with my rage is chilling, and I feel a surprising surge of gratitude that Potter is ***so* good as to be nearly incorruptible.  My heart skips a beat at his hissed, wispy tone and I wonder if it's the novelty of speaking with someone else's voice that is frightening me, or something more.  "He's fifteen years old, and if he dies, ****you will be his murderers," I say venomously and begin the slow process of crawling across the cell to his food.  Neither he nor I have the energy to do anything more.  As I move, a cold thrills through my veins and voices not my own fill my own thoughts.  _Merlin.  Not all the Dementors have left yet, I realize in horror and as the chill zings up my spine and I fall into Potter's nightmares…  _**

_It's Christmas morning.  I don't know ***how* I know this, but I do.  The tiny hand that reaches in front of me indicates that this memory of Potter's must be when he was only five or six.  The small hand turns a knob, and then he takes a quick glance behind him which shows me his bedroom.  **__It's a closet, I note in surprise.  He steps out into the main house with bare feet nearly tripping over the long pant legs of his pajamas.  __His cousin's pajamas.  I'm not sure how I know this, but I do.  His feet are freezing as he steps across the cold floor, but understanding floats up to me… __He has no slippers.  Miscellaneous bits of knowledge which are **understood by him, but not known by me, slide into my mind.  **__Interesting.  _

A family sits within the living room gathered around the Christmas tree. They are remarkably repulsive looking.  The man… _Potter's uncle… is obese and blustery.  He appears bullish and sour, although his face is clenched into a smile at the moment as he watches his son tear through Christmas wrap.  __Vernon__ Dursley is his name… is wearing silk pajamas and a robe he obviously thought would look sophisticated but instead fails to cover his girth completely.  I ***feel* Potter's hesitancy to join this scene.  **__He's already cooked them breakfast? I realize from his memories.  __How can that be?  I've seen how Muggles cook.  __How could he even reach the stove?  Nonetheless, the fact evidently remains.  _

Potter's aunt would look right at home amongst mules.  Her long angular facial structure and jutting jaw make me scour her face looking for ***any* signs of Lily Potter…  _How can you be related to this?… and her thin lips are pursed together nervously as she awaits her son's reaction to his present.  She's all bones and angles, with none of Lily Potter's healthy, wholesome beauty.  __Aunt Petunia… the name floats up to me.  Of all of the memories to get caught up in, I count my blessings that it's *_****this* one.  _Things could have been much worse, I realize, and decide to wait out the rest of Potter's memory, pleased that so far my own memories remain happily buried.  __I'll stick this out and wait for the Dementor to pass by, then resume my trek for the gruel.  Oh joy._**

As Potter *the child* steps into the room, three heads snap up and glare at him.  He is clearly not welcome here, yet feels obligated to remain.  I feel Potter's desire to flee to the closet as he determinedly pushes forward.  He chooses a place in the corner and folds himself onto the floor… _He's not allowed on the furniture, the knowledge drifts into my mind._

Potter's stomach rumbles loudly, and his 'Uncle Vernon' snarls out, "If you'd have gotten breakfast done earlier, perhaps you'd have gotten more to eat."  I freeze.  _What's this? He's… what?… six at the most?  You don't withhold food from a child.  And on Christmas day nonetheless.  Potter remains silent, although he maintains eye contact with the man.  __Interesting defense, Potter.  I suspect it is probably more useful than my own defensive mechanism: sarcasm.  __And less painful._

Potter's cousin is an overweight monstrosity of a boy.  I cannot quite tell how old he is, although I suspect he's near Potter's age, but their *size* difference is amazing.  If I were to judge the age of the two boys based upon size alone, I'd put the cousin nearly twice Potter's age.  As he sits on the floor I can clearly see rolls of fat peak out from underneath his pajama top, and his face is swollen and pudgy.  _Dudley__ is his name… Dudley's pig eyes dart towards Potter maliciously and he seems to be taking extra pleasure in unwrapping his gifts, insuring Potter sees every moment that he cannot share, for it quickly becomes clear that Potter has no gifts at all.  The adults may have forgotten Potter's presence for the moment as he strives to blend in with the furniture, but the cousin most certainly has not.  Although it's obvious the adults in this family have encouraged this malice, to see it in a child so young directed at Potter is obscene.  I have no doubt it's never gotten better._

As I watch this mockery of a family tear through presents, I feel a question burning within Potter.  _Don't ask it, boy.  Don't do it, I plead as I begin to understand what it is he wants to say.  He asks anyway, once all the presents are unwrapped.  _

"How come I don't get presents?" Harry asks innocently.  His voice takes me by surprise.  I don't read anger or bitterness, but rather a lonely curiosity.  He knows he'll be swatted back with cruel words, but feels he must ask nonetheless.  It's taken him years to gather up the courage to do this.  They all blink at him in surprise.  Even his cousin appears shocked.  

"Only good boys get presents, boy.  Santa knows you're not a good boy," his Aunt Petunia replies, her eyes narrowed in disapproval.  

I feel the surge of triumph within Harry as he replies, "Yes, but not all of those presents are from Santa.  Some are from you, too," Harry replies, pointing to a name tag.  Vernon Dursley had read each tag aloud before handing the gifts to his son.  I myself was quite pleased with the Lamb pajama set Dudley's 'Aunt Marge' sent.  It would have been better if his parent's had had the backbone to actually make him wear it.  

"Why would we want to get you a gift?" Vernon Dursley asked angrily, clearly appalled at Potter's nerve.  I can see the steam building up behind his words.  He's about to become furious.  Petunia Dursley reaches a hand out and rests it on Vernon Dursley's forearm.  

"Do you want a gift, too, boy?" she asks, and my breath hitches.  Harry nods hesitantly.  The smile that lights up her face is stark cruelty.  Vernon appears astonished at her words and is about to argue with her when he sees her expression.  His own face lights up as his eyes glare dully at Harry.  

"Next year, then," Vernon announces abruptly.  Dudley's eyes go round angrily as he begins to protest loudly.  "Now go to your room," he orders, and Harry hastily complies as Vernon scoops up his repulsive son and obviously whispers what he intends to give Harry next year.  Dudley giggles happily.  Harry remains painfully oblivious as I feel the faint hope surge within him.  It becomes hard to swallow for a moment as I anticipate the scene to come.  

I flit from one moment to another for the next year of Potter's life; all those moments he contemplates what his relatives will get him.  Actually, I'm rather surprised by his realism.  Potter isn't so much anticipating the gift itself as he is the act of opening it.  

I discover Potter has a rather vivid imagination as he closes his eyes occasionally, having finished with housework given for the sake of having him do *something*, and pretends to feel the paper rip underneath his hands, the anticipation of *not knowing* what the gift will be.  

"It could be anything," I hear him think.  "It could be a puppy, or a book, or a toy.  It could be a blanket…" _A blanket? I wonder, then realize how cold much of Potter's childhood has been with only a thin blanket to keep him warm in winter; "…or a photo of my parents,"  he thinks, his inner voice innocent and hopeful.  __He's never seen them, I suddenly understand, appalled._

Potter's memory progresses, and I'm once again with him as he opens the closet door to peer at the obscene family blissfully opening presents before him.  _Lovely.  Next Christmas.  And I see he's cooked breakfast again.  His heart is beating in anticipation even as he cautions himself against getting too excited.  I can easily hear, deep down, the part of him that desperately yearns for a kind word or gesture from this family, and I feel sick to know he'll never see it.  __I don't even need to see any further memories to know that.  _

He waits patiently as everyone opens their presents but him.  One gift stands alone, separated from the rest as if the Dursleys fear it may contaminate *their* gifts.  Potter has seen it for days.  He knows exactly where it sits underneath the tree.  Occasionally, his aunt or uncle's hands will come tantalizingly close to picking the gift up, then skim over it to pick up another one for Dudders… I shudder at the nickname.  Their eyes watch Potter squirm anxiously, their own tight lipped smiles unnoticed.  Dudley himself can barely contain his snickers.  Potter doesn't miss his cousin's behavior, even if the adult's more subtle actions are lost on him.  Nonetheless, it's a present, and Potter's never had one.

I realize that although *this* is far more mild than some of the things Potter has witnessed, it is wringing me out nonetheless.  I feel my stomach…_or is it his?...  clench painfully as I silently wish for Potter to never open the *gift*.  By the end of the morning, only two gifts remain; one for Potter and one for his cousin.  __Ah, even if it's a cruel present, the Dursleys know that __Dudley__ would never tolerate having Potter open the last present of the day.  Petunia Dursley's hands hover over Potter's present teasingly, then reach for Dudley's.  I'm surprised for a moment, then let out a breath I didn't know I'd held as her hand releases Dudley's present and clasps Potter's gift instead.  She stands with the gift held between her hands and walks slowly over to Potter.  I still am unsure of his age.  __Perhaps seven, at this point?  So he was six last year?  _

"You asked for a present, boy.  Here you go," she says without preamble.  I wish I could close my eyes, but cannot.  Potter takes the brightly wrapped gift in trembling hands.  He looks closely at his aunt and uncle's faces and sees the malice there.  He watches as Dudley has to turn away to hide his snickers, obviously not remorseful in the least at his mother's glare trying to try to silence him into not giving their secret away.  

Potter closes his eyes, and mine close with him.  He doesn't have faces to put to his parents, but instead imagines their warm voices and cries of happiness as he sits at their feet.  

"Look what Santa brought you, Harry.  A slingshot!" I start at Potter's ideal toy, surprised, and suppress a snicker.  _Ah, to be a little boy again...  Or perhaps not.  I realize my own mirth is merely a release for nervous energy.  "After gifts, let's all sit by the fire and eat cookies," the masculine voice says.  It must be what Potter imagines his father's voice to be.  It's actually quite off, but then, this *is* the imagination of a little boy.  "No, you don't give him sweets, you cook Harry a nice breakfast and send him out to have snowball fights with his father.  You *did* notice it's started snowing, didn't you, Harry?" Potter's imaginary mother says.  I feel the warmth that Harry derives from this pathetic attempt at a happy home life and feel ill.  The incompleteness; Potter's own inability to fully flesh out a good memory is painfully obvious.  __So how did he find his Patronus? My brain wonders randomly.  _

"Give me that.  You're taking too long," Vernon Dursley says, ripping Potter's gift out of his hands.  Where Potter had carefully pulled the Muggle tape from the paper, fully intending to keep it as a memento, Dursley rips and shreds viciously at it until only a cardboard box remains.  He pushes it back into Potter's hands.  "Open it," he says.  Potter stares at the closed box and holds his breath as he opens the lid.  Inside is an empty tomato sauce can surrounded by tissue paper, still dirty with traces of its contents.  It's from last night's dinner, Potter realizes.  He'd watched Aunt Petunia throw it in the trash.  The room bursts into laughter as Harry lifts the can out of the box.  He looks at the wrapping paper strewn across the floor in disappointment, and I can hear his mind decide that *that* was not a memento he wanted anyway.  

"Merry Christmas, boy," Vernon Dursley says mockingly, then nods to Petunia who takes the last present under the tree and hands it to Dudley, kneeling beside him to watch him unwrap it.  Her eyes slip to glance at Potter as he sits and silently watches his cousin.  I can see they're disappointed in his lack of response, and although he shows little, I can feel the emotions bubbling under the surface.  The sadness is so natural to him now, the loneliness held into place by yet one more pin.  He aches for love… I can feel it.  It's so raw and real that it nearly overwhelms me even as I feel Harry draw within himself.  He offers himself no platitudes, nothing to buffer the blow his relatives deliver.  He simply sits, absorbs the pain, and moves on.  It's far more than I've *ever*** wanted to know about him.**

"What do you say for the Christmas gift, boy?" Vernon Dursley growls as Dudley shrieks with joy at the electronic toy he's been given, his attention diverted back to his own presents now that the fun in picking on Potter is over.  Vernon Dursley is talking to Harry, not Dudley.  Evidently, no thanks are expected from the brat.  Dudley's toy begins to light up and make the obnoxious sounds of Muggle gunfire while Vernon waits for Potter's reply.

"Thank you Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia," Harry says flatly and stands to leave.  He holds the can in his hand, and I know he fully intends to throw it away later.  He walks away to return to his closet… _his room… and I feel something deep within Potter that I hadn't realized was *always* there.  The moment I'd activated the bond with him, I sensed a deep melancholy within him, a thoughtfulness and watchfulness that most *adults* I've met lack.  I'd rather thought it was a later development due to his dreams.  Now I see it has been with him since early childhood.  __I refuse to reanalyze all my interactions with the boy based on this knowledge, I decide.  Have I mentioned that ignorance is bliss?_

One final thought from Potter drifts into my mind, and I recognize it for what it is.  "I'm not going to count this as my first Christmas present then," he decides resolutely.  I sense his disappointment that he didn't even get to unwrap the present.  "But at least I tried."  Yes indeed, I know a motto when I hear one.  

As the Dementor finally passes by Potter's cell, I finish crawling to the tray and stuff Potter's face with the gruel before my gag reflex kicks in.  It's disgusting.  Potter's fingers can't quite wrap securely enough around the cup to hold it steady, and I too spill more water than I can make him drink down the front of his robes.  I'm losing energy fast as I work to get Potter settled.  I drag across the floor to the mattress, and the simple act of climbing into bed proves to be my undoing.  Thankfully, the charmed blankets remain, and I force Potter to cocoon himself within them.  I had feared the house elves might have changed the sheets, and taken his charmed blankets with them.  I'm pleased that this is no the case.  I'm going to need a long rest before I can help him with his Animagus training.  Blocking my own memories from Potter as I experience even mild Dementor flashbacks has proved to be my undoing.  I'd been caught by surprise.  

When I initiate the bond and pull the boy to me, the Dementors don't affect me as much.  But as I was *in* Potter's body at the time, their direct influence has exhausted me.  Although I don't lose consciousness when Dementors are about, it's certainly not pleasant in the least either.  I've not mentioned it to Dumbledore, but I suspect it's by sheer will alone that I *don't* pass out.  _What he doesn't know won't hurt him.  Take that proverb and…  Ahem…  Sighing, I make one last check to see that Potter is settled.  Closing his eyes, I allow myself to slide out of his skin.  I drift away, the stale sea air is replaced by musky smoke and tea.  __Tea?  A hand presses a bit of chocolate into mine and I open my eyes to see Albus sitting on the edge of my bed.  I've arrived home then.  __Yeay._

"I can see what happened.  Are you alright?" Albus asks gently as he sets about filling my goblet with Pepper Up potion.  I nod as I chew on the chocolate bar thoughtfully.  The aches and pains of my own body prove delightfully simple compared to Potter's.  All in all, I'm feeling much better.  "Were you able to help him?" Albus asks gently after a moment.  I nod again, then look in his eyes and see something that doesn't necessarily surprise me, but makes me pause nonetheless.  I suspect he *knew* what it was like for Potter.  His childhood.  _All those years._

I decide to look at this logically before the thought slips away in exhaustion.  Could anyone have provided a better home for the boy?  _Yes.  Could Dumbledore have provided as much magical protection?  __No.  But then again… __Did Potter need it?  All this concern for Potter's safety, and the only real threat he faced would have been Death Eaters seeking revenge.  _

Voldemort's followers lost their momentum when their leader disappeared.  Placing Potter with the Muggles *immediately* after Voldemort's demise was appropriate.  But once Dumbledore brought me from Azkaban, and I showed him my own faded Dark Mark; proof of Voldemort's diminished power to the point of *_what I'd then hoped* permanent incapacitation…  why did Potter remain with those people?  Potter needs more protection *now* than he ever did, and the option to remain with those appalling Muggles has thankfully been taken off the table.  Until the Ministry stepped into the picture, my understanding was that Potter was quite safe at the Weasleys.  _

As Albus and I look at each other quietly for a moment, I realize something I really wish I hadn't.  He is fallible.  He's trying, but he's not omnipotent.  He's done the best he can, and lives with the consequences.  Perhaps because he's more powerful, the consequences are more far reaching.  Either way, even as I wish I didn't see this side of Albus Dumbledore, I'm also slightly glad I did.  After all, I too, am doing the best I can.  And that's all anyone can do.  

I chew on the chocolate thoughtfully and let Albus give me more Pepper Up.  Although steam comes out my ears, I also find I'm drifting to sleep.  Albus doesn't feel the need to question me.  I suspect he senses my need for silence.  He's satisfied I've insured Potter will survive another day.  As I drift, I find I'm already beginning to think of the best approach to try to help Potter turn into his Animagus form.  _Since when do I care? my mind asks.  I know the answer, but don't dignify my brain with it.  __Damn meddling insight.  It's almost as burdensome as a conscience.  _

************************************************************************

The pleas of the old woman, begging Harry to wake up, oddly began to fade.  Reality, nightmares…  It had become hard to tell when he was awake and when he was in a memory.  Images blended until all he saw was one long cinema in his mind of pain and suffering.  He longed to grow numb of the spectacle of human cruelty he witnessed…  But it was all so real.  Nothing diminished.  The helplessness, the desperation, the pity and anguish he'd felt the first time he dreamt of her… of *all of them*… didn't diminish now that he knew their outcomes.  They always died.  Except once.  But the hope he'd held in his heart for the one life he'd managed to save wasn't allowed in this place.

Harry found there was no way to steel himself for the onslaught of emotions, no way to center himself or prepare for the pain that always came.  The agony of the curses still coursed through his body just the same, their cries for help, for mercy didn't fade.  He failed them again and again.

But as the old woman's face faded, Harry realized that other thoughts were beginning to seep into his mind… **_My thoughts__, not memories.  Are the Dementors leaving?  Is it mealtime already?  Will I be able to stay awake? He wondered.  As he waited in the deafening stillness, a vacuum after the screams, neither awake nor asleep, Harry was pleased to note he no longer felt his own body anymore.  __Well, perhaps that's not a good thing, but nonetheless it's a relief.  Such thoughts always reminded Harry of Sirius, of *who* he needed to be strong for.  Harry no longer needed to try to imagine how it was for his godfather all those years.  _**

_Now I understand, he realized, and marveled again that he'd been able to think of *anything* besides his visions.  Now he understood so much more about Sirius than he ever had before.    __Twelve years…  How many days have I been here?  I can't even imagine.  The respect and admiration he felt for the strength and resilience in his godfather multiplied daily.  __How is it I'm even thinking?  Harry wondered.  This was probably the longest Harry had been able to think clearly since the night Voldemort killed the Barnes couple.  A tiny bit of warmth seep into Harry's senses.__  What?  Warmth?  He hadn't been warm in ages._

**Awake now, are we?** a voice chirped in Harry's mind.  Blackness still engulfed him, but oddly he didn't feel like he was even *in*** his cell anymore.  The faint pop of wood burning in a fireplace confirmed it.  Warmth and comfort seeped into his senses, which Harry gratefully accepted with a silent sigh.**

**I'm not sure.  I guess,** Harry replied as he struggled to be more aware of his surroundings.  He knew the voice immediately of course.  He would *never*** be able to not recognize his potions professor's voice.  **

**There's a bond between us, and I'm pulling you to me… away from Azkaban.  Are you going to sit there all day or try to help me?  It will go much faster if you do,** Harry's vexed Potions Professor said, and Harry tried to muster enough energy to comply.  Although the aches and pains of his own body appeared to have been left behind, an overwhelming sense of exhaustion remained.  

Harry wasn't sure *what* he was supposed to do in this dark void with only the sarcastic voice of Professor Snape to guide him.  Harry tried to concentrate on what Snape was talking about, and soon enough he felt a pull at his breastbone.  _I assume this is it, he thought absently and consciously tried to move forward.  He could feel the tug, much like a Portkey, trying to pull him in a direction that didn't feel natural.  __Is that because it's away from my body? He wondered.  __This must be what Snape's talking about then.  Harry concentrated on moving forward, assisting the pull in his chest, and found himself flying forward so fast that he became disoriented and no longer knew if he was rushing *towards* Snape or back to his own body.  _

The moment he stopped trying, Harry felt a snap of energy that seemed to seal him into… breath.  A heartbeat.  Limbs.  Light peeked from between eyes now beginning to open…  Warm sheets, firelight, cool air, the sight and scent of tea and pastries at a bedside…  _Tea and pastries?  Definitely not Azkaban, then.  Harry realized he must be in Snape's bedroom.  _

**That was interesting,** Snape observed, and Harry realized as his vision cleared just *what* had occurred.  

_I'm in Snape's body.  Harry stilled and tried to absorb just what the implications were.  _

**Wouldn't it be simpler if I told you?** Snape asked dryly.  

_Can he read my thoughts? Harry wondered, curiosity overriding his fatigue.  _

**Now what do *you* think, Potter?** 

Harry goggled at the ramifications, deciding it was too weird for words.  _Can I read his thoughts as well?  _

**Only when I want you to… Which I don't,** Snape replied. 

_That's rather unfair, Harry decided tiredly, but not surprised.  _

"Rather ironic, coming from you," Snape said aloud, startling Harry.  He found he liked it better when Snape spoke into the empty bed chamber than when he talked directly into Harry's mind.  It gave Harry more of a sense of distance.  He found it disconcerting to know Snape was reading his thoughts.  After all, he'd spent his whole life guarding his tongue against his relatives, but never had to guard his thoughts before.  "Very well.  I'll continue conversing with you in this fashion, then," Snape said, reading Harry's preferences.  He assumed Snape could also sense his relief.  

_So am I supposed to become an Animagus here? Harry wondered._

"If you'd quit jumping ahead, I'll explain things to you.  Will you stop babbling in my mind?" Snape asked in annoyance.  Harry remained silent.  Snape grunted in satisfaction.  "Thank you.  Now…  As you can see, I've drawn you to me.  Your body remains in Azkaban.  Your spirit currently resides here with me.  Your heart still beats, you still draw breath, but the spell and potion Headmaster Dumbledore performed allow me to bring your soul, your essence here for relief.  It distances the effects of the Dementors.  It also takes a great deal of energy to hold you here, though, so I will only be able to do it for a couple of hours," Snape said and sat up in bed, pushing back warm bedcovers.  Harry sighed at the loss.  Deep green velvet curtains were drawn at the four bedposts on his bed, leaving the Potions Master's private chambers clearly visible.  

Snape slid his feet over the edge of the bed and into charmed slippers.  Harry decided that *that* was a brilliant idea as warmth once again enveloped his toes.  As Snape stood and looked for his robe, Harry's vision roamed where Snape looked.  

"Yes, you do seem perpetually cold," Snape observed quietly as he crossed the room.  Harry felt a great deal like an invisible watcher in the back of Snape's mind, seeing his actions but seemingly unable to affect them.  Out of curiosity, Harry tried to tap Snape's finger against his thigh, just to see if he could.  Nothing happened, but Harry wasn't surprised.  Simply curious.

"It's because you're too weak.  If I were to give permission *and* you had the strength, you would probably be able to do as I did: manifest completely within the other person.  I did so earlier when you were unconscious.  You've eaten and taken potions," Snape explained.

_Thank you, Harry thought.  _

"You're welcome," Snape replied.  Harry searched for any sarcasm within Snape's words, but found none.  

_This is very strange, Harry realized. Snape was being entirely too nice. Even exhausted as he felt, Harry's curiosity helped to keep his attention riveted, and he found he was intrigued with this side of the Potions Master.  Snape remained silent.  _

Instead of making comments on what Harry was thinking, Snape slipped on a warm black robe.  He must have sensed Harry's interest in the Head of Slytherin's private chambers, for Snape allowed his head to swivel, his vision taking in the furnishings of the room and giving Harry a detailed glimpse.  It was a thoughtful gesture, and certainly nothing Harry had ever seen the bitter Professor indulge in before.  

The room seemed disappointingly unexceptional.  It was actually rather cozy.  Harry definitely hadn't expected that.  The tapestries on the wall were faded with age until only the hues of color remained as opposed to the actual images.  The rugs on the stone floor were plush and ornate and covered most of the room.  Candles burned brightly throughout, and couches and chairs were tucked into corners and against walls with writing desks beside them, all filled with books of every shape and size.  _It's a scholar's room.  It appeared Snape didn't have just one area where he studied, but rather quite a few.  Shelves against the stone walls were filled with what Harry recognized to be the more exotic potions ingredients seldom necessary for class, but often used for medicinal purposes.  __Probably the ingredients he doesn't trust to leave in the store room, Harry decided._

"Precisely," Snape agreed with Harry's thoughts and crossed the room, settling into a chair beside the fireplace as he poured some tea for himself.  "I suppose you should enjoy this as well," Snape observed with only slight sarcasm in his voice and took a sip.  The warmth of the tea against his tongue was absolute bliss for Harry.  Glancing at the pastries beside the bed, Harry felt a brief rush of humor from Snape before it was squelched.  "I'm normally not partial to croissants, myself, but I'm not above begging," Snape said and reached for the croissant accommodatingly.  

Now that Harry was beginning to grow comfortable as an observer within Snape's mind, he truly began to feel what it was like to *be* Snape.  Harry looked down at Snape's long, slender fingers as he took another sip of tea and realized he was actually quite graceful.  Each move was a conscious act, calculated and precise.  

_Is this from being a Potions Master? Harry wondered.  Looking back, Harry realized that Snape's menacing gait as his black robes billowed behind him was actually quite… aristocratic.  __Interesting, Harry realized.  _

"I'm still here, you know," Snape observed wryly.  

_Then would you take a bite of the croissant, please? Harry asked, marveling how much better he felt.  __It's because I've left my body behind, Harry realized, and closed off *that* thought before his mind went anywhere further.  Down that road lay things he didn't want to think about at the moment.  Snape wisely said nothing._

As Snape took another bite of the croissant, Harry was aware of an odd burning sensation on Snape's left forearm.  Snape set the croissant down and rested his left hand on his leg, palm facing up.  "Yes, that's what you think it is," Snape said, his voice somber.  Harry watched as Snape slid the sleeve of his robe up to his elbow.  The Dark Mark was clearly visible against his forearm.  

_It burns.  Does this mean Voldemort's active? Harry wondered.  _

"No.  Otherwise, I suspect the pain in your scar would make it harder for me to hold you here than it is.  No, this is simply a *reminder*** that he's returned," Snape answered.  Harry stared at the stark markings on Snape's skin and marveled at his control.  It itched and burned, and if Harry had been in control of Snape's body, he'd have scratched it bloody by now. It was driving him batty.**

"I have my moments," Snape murmured, and Harry wondered if Snape even intended for Harry to hear the words.  "Now that I've discovered the mystery of Black and Lupin's gift to you, I find myself *hopeful* that you actually managed to study it enough for us to immediately begin working on your Animagus transformation," Snape said, settling further into the chair beside the tea.  Harry eyed the tea and croissant longingly, and Snape sighed martryishly while he sipped, then took another bite of the pastry.  Harry thrilled in the sensation and allowed himself to just enjoy it for a moment.  

_Other than that bloody itch, it's quite nice here, he decided.  Harry knew his threshold for pain was not in doubt, so he suspected that Snape's forearm bothered him as much as it did simply because it *was* tied to Voldemort.  Harry was surprised to realize that seeing the Mark so vividly didn't make him view Snape any differently.  _

Just last year the concept of knowing *anyone* who'd received the Dark Mark repulsed him.  The Death Eaters who'd appeared in the graveyard for Voldemort's rebirth had seemed disgusting; their groveling fear tangible, their lust for power seeming to ooze from their very being.  They were cruel men, predators like Voldemort.  Harry hated few people in his life, but even *before* the nightmares he'd hated these men.  

Not so with Snape.  Once Harry had learned of Snape's role as a spy, when he'd exposed himself as a former Death Eater to Fudge the night after the Triwizard Tournament, Harry had thought a great deal for the kind of life it must have required Snape to live.  

The conversations Harry saw later in his nightmares between the Potions Master and Voldemort were very clearly a giant chess match.  Snape picked and chose what truths he spoke, and interspersed them with pure fiction.  It was nerve-wracking to say the least, and stressed Harry nearly out of his skin.  By the time the final Cruciatus Curses were cast, Harry decided Snape must live on his instincts.  Wormtail provided just enough knowledge to constantly test Snape's truthfulness, and he often walked a very fine line between revealing himself and causing his own death. 

Harry wasn't sure *when* he'd stopped hating his professor, but as he looked at Snape's Dark Mark and felt the shame that burned through the man, still perceivable even behind Snape's defenses, Harry realized how much he had in common with him.  _When a man's currency is regret, debts can only be paid in blood...  Where'd *that* come from? Harry wondered._

"Let's save the introspection for when your professor isn't here to eavesdrop, shall we?" Snape asked ironically.  Harry rolled his figurative eyes and began to concentrate on recalling all the steps to becoming an Animagus.  

_How's this going to work with me here?  You already said you cannot become an Animagus, so how am I supposed to practice while in you? Harry wondered, still weary.  He hoped he was up for this._

"What you do *here* will affect your body *there*.  Your connection to magic is with your spirit… here," Snape said, tapping his own breastbone.  "As you concentrate on the steps, the magic *should* flow through you.  By keeping your soul here, it prevents the Dementors from distracting you, and allows me to provide any last minute energy or tutelage you may require.  Once the change is complete, I will allow the bond to pull me to join you in your new form, and we'll find out just *what* you are...  Quickly, what are the three most dangerous aspects to becoming an Animagus?" Snape snapped.  

_One, using a magic not controlled by a wand to manifest physical internal changes within the human body can prove fatal if not monitored closely, as it takes a while for the human body to develop a tolerance for such raw and primal magic, Harry said, then paused to organize his thoughts.  Snape remained silent.___

_ Secondly, any stop, reversal, or hesitation within the transformation process can cease the magical preservation of your health.  For example, if you're half dog and half human, and the dog's heart has already been transformed, *that* heart will not be capable of sustaining life in the morphed body, Harry said, using Sirius' Animagus form as an example.  ___

"Too bad you can't study like this in Potions," Snape snorted.  Harry ignored him, and restrained himself from mentioning how much more *interesting* studying to become an Animagus was than potions anyway.  "I heard that," Snape said sharply, but Harry sensed his bark didn't have much bite.  

_Also, once the process is completely halted and magic ceases to aid the body in its transformation, it cannot be restarted without having to *permanently* rearrange your own physical mass, likely causing damage in the process.  After all, most people aren't aware of every single valve and chamber necessary for the human heart to function, so their attempt at such repair inevitably proves fatal as outside intervention is impossible, Harry said and marveled that Pettigrew would have had the courage to take such a risk.  Harry still had a hard time reconciling the man who killed Cedric with the story Snape had told__.  _

"Focus, Potter," Snape instructed_.  _

_Finally, without careful control of your physical transformation and the magic it requires, wizards have been known to overshoot the mark and end up a tangle of limbs and fur.  Without a clear beginning and end, the magic used to become an Animagus can wipe all traces of *both* the human and the animal, becoming irrevocably lost, Harry quoted.  _

"Well done," Snape said, and he did sound somewhat impressed.  "Time is short, Potter, and the sooner we do this, the more energy I have to give if you need it.  Do you honestly believe you're ready to actually try to become an Animagus?" Snape asked sincerely.  

Harry hesitated as he searched within himself.  He'd practically memorized the book.  He'd spent countless hours visualizing what to do.  But he was so perpetually tired now.  Was he ready?  _No.  Would he try anyway?  __Yes.  _

"This does not instill confidence, Potter.  Please consider that you'll splinch *me* as well should you fail," Snape said dryly.

_Yes, well, I've been thinking about that, Harry thought, not mentioning how long he actually *had* been thinking about it.__   After all, he'd had no idea that if he failed he'd splinch Snape as well.  But now that he did__…  The Dementors leave at mealtime, right?  If you could find a way to insure I take enough potions to wake up, *then* sever the link, I could try it on my own and not endanger you at all, Harry commented.  Snape's annoyance was both audible and mental.  _

"I understand this is an obsession of yours, Potter, so I'll let your ludicrous comments slide.  But to answer your suggestion…  No.  My debt is *not* your concern, and neither is my life.  There's only so much even *my* potions can do.  More needs to be done to keep you alive.  The wheels of bureaucracy are moving to free you, but it will still require a little more time, time I don't think you have unless we try this.  So ignore my previous comment, center yourself before you begin, and for Merlin's sake don't fail.  How does that sound?" Snape asked peevishly, his voice hard.  

_Certainly, Harry replied and pulled further back from Snape's senses to try to focus more on his own.  The moment he tried to distance himself, the exhaustion returned in full force, flooding his awareness.  He took a deep breath and tried to feel the magic he knew he had within him even without his wand.  _

It was something Harry had *known* without really knowing.  The moment he'd saved his own and Hermione's life after first learning the truth about Sirius and Remus, the moment he thought he'd seen his father's Animagus form fight off the Dementors...  Something deep within him, something Harry had never admitted aloud, whispered to him that he could do that, too.  He had it within him.  

But to do it without a wand…  Harry missed his wand.  Fudge himself had taken it, and Harry had had to restrain himself from reaching out to grab it back.  He'd not realized how much a part of him it now was until it was gone.  _It's one thing to know the magic is within me, but it's another to put it into play, Harry decided.  __Theory is all well and good until you put it into practice. _

"We'll get your wand back, Potter.  Now would you *please* focus on the task at hand?" Snape asked.  Harry gathered his wandering thoughts.

_Right. Sorry, Harry thought.  __Focus, Harry said and allowed himself to quit worrying about his surroundings and the chair Snape sat in.  The warmth of the fireplace against his legs dimmed, and even Snape's presence seemed to fade as Harry tried to look within himself, gather his energies as the book had instructed, and begin the process.  His skin seemed to tingle as the air around him seemed to shimmer.  __Is it the air in Snape's room or my cell?  _

"Concentration isn't a strong point of yours, is it Potter?  Don't worry about the details, worry about the process," Snape instructed curtly.  

_Yes, sorry, Harry said.  _

"Are you *sure* you're ready to try this?" Snape asked, the first real concern shading his voice.  

_Would you quit breaking my concentration? Harry asked and couldn't help the humor that tinged his thought.  Snape snorted in annoyance and snapped his jaw shut.  Harry was properly gratified.  Allowing his senses once again to pull back, Harry immediately felt the tingling now.  He wasn't sure if it was Snape's skin or his own, but pushed his curiosity aside as he pursued the sensation.  _

Harry decided it must be his own skin.  He must be beginning to feel the process.  The tingling started at his fingertips and moved up his arms, into his chest and lungs.  Quickly it surged down his legs and up into his head.  Suddenly Harry's senses seemed to go topsy turvy as perceptions changed around him.  He felt muscles contract, bones shift and rearrange themselves, and ligaments stretch and expand.  He was shrinking and expanding at the same time, and although it was highly uncomfortable, it wasn't quite painful, simply… tiring and extremely disorienting.  Harry felt his own grip on the magic humming around him begin to slip and…

"Oh no you don't," Snape said, and a surge of magic filled Harry, carrying him through.  He'd lost momentum, but not the process.  His arms seemed to stretch for miles as did his neck, even as Harry knew he was nearly half the size he'd originally been.  The magic seemed to stop coursing through his bones, but still sung in his ears.  

_Am I done? Harry wondered.  It had been an amazing sensation, like falling off a cliff and letting the air buffet his body into something completely different.  Abruptly Harry realized he was freezing.  __Freezing?  Am I changed now?  Shouldn't I have fur or something? Harry asked.  He felt a surge of relief flow through his bond to Snape as he opened his eyes.  __See, I didn't splinch you, Professor, Harry thought.  He was back on his bed in his cell in Azkaban.  As he opened his eyes, Harry saw the cell he was in clearly… all of it.  At once.  There was no need for him to turn his head.  __Ummm, Harry thought, unsure what to do now.  __Senses.  What kind of senses do I have?  He decided a mental checklist might help.  His vision was amazing and creepy.  He could clearly see every detail of the room, every nook and cranny… More so than he'd ever wanted to, actually.  Scratch marks against the cell door, desperate words carved into the stone walls, blood on the floor.  __Oh.  That's mine.  _

Harry realized he could still feel the chill of the Dementors, but instead of their magic overpowering his senses, they simply hummed on the outskirts of his consciousness, like bees flying near his ear.  _I can definitely live with this, except I'm so cold, Harry decided.  _

**Well, Potter, what are you?** Snape asked, his curiosity tangible in Harry's mind.  

_I have no idea, Harry replied, bewildered.  As far as he could tell, his hearing was normal, he had seemingly near 360 degree vision that was extremely focused and precise, no fur, and somewhat enhanced olfactory senses.  Enough to smell his neighbors, which was something he could have done without.  _

**Say something.  See what sounds you make,** Snape instructed practically.  Evidently Harry's Animagus form protected Snape from the Dementors as well, for Harry could sense that Snape wasn't having any difficulty staying with him.  Harry tried to make a sound, but gagging erupted in the room instead.  He was startled for a moment, then collected himself and decided to try again.

_Okay, Harry thought, but the sound he made sounded more like a squawk than words.  __What kind of sound is that? Harry wondered, but warbling musical chirps sounded instead.  __A bird!  I'm a bird! Harry decided and stretched out a leg in front of him to see what kind of feathers he should have.  __They must be ridiculously lightweight for me to be this chilled.  Is there such a thing as a summer bird? Harry wondered.  _

**Ummm,** Snape said as Harry stared at the outstretched claws in front of him.  They were gold.  His leg, however, appeared to have no feathers at all.  In fact, he rather looked like an unfortunate turkey he'd once seen Aunt Petunia cook.

_If I'm a bird, aren't I supposed to have feathers? Harry asked, bewildered, of Snape's stunned presence within him.  He felt so tired now, so cold, and now rather… exposed.  He gathered his wings *arms* in front of him.  That seemed to help a little._

**Ummm,** Snape tried again.  

_Professor, I'm bald, Harry said in exasperation, weariness making him shake his head.  Snape evidently remained speechless.  _

_You're not helping much, Harry scolded the former Death Eater in his mind.  Warbled singing came out of his mouth instead of words.  Harry froze as he suddenly remembered another bird, another time, whose warbled trills of music sounded very similar to his own.  __That's it… I'm a phoenix, aren't I? Harry said, pleased to have discovered his mystery form.  _

**Ummmm, yes.  It appears you are,** Snape finally said.  Harry's mind made the leap right away.  He was a phoenix without feathers, so...  

_Near Burning Day.  That's it, isn't it?  I'm a phoenix near Burning Day, Harry thought.  Snape remained silent.  _

Harry must have startled Snape when he began to chuckle, because Snape reached out through the bond tentatively, as if trying to make sure Harry hadn't snapped.  He hadn't.  It was just that, like the little moments of beauty or truth that Harry cherished, both in nature and in his friends, sometimes the silliness was too obvious to miss as well.  Was this the kind of silliness that made Dumbledore offer candy with each meeting, and name his password after a magical sweet?  Little trills of mirth filled the prison cell with merriment as Harry gently laughed.

**Potter?** Snape asked hesitantly.  

_Yes, Harry asked.  __Hm.  Having a beak seemed rather strange, he decided.  Not only did it seem too heavy somehow, but now that he looked at it, its gleaming gold color was quite shiny.  _

**Is there a problem?** Snape asked, obviously unsure how to voice his concerns.  Harry shook his head tiredly.  

_No.  No problems.  My Animagus is a bird, but can I fly out of here? Harry asked, and in demonstration began to use his muscles to fly.  His wings extended instinctively and the movements seemed natural, but without feathers he couldn't raise himself off the bed.  __Of course not, Harry answered his own question with a soft chuckle.  __At least if I'd been a penguin I could have *swum* out of here, Harry observed, and his mirth spread to Snape as well.  Snape snorted.  _

It felt good to laugh.  Harry realized it had been a *very* long time since he'd done it, since he had *felt* like doing it.  In a way, he'd almost been afraid to.  Harry had seen **so much death and violence, it had broken his heart.  It had felt more appropriate to respect that pain, to honor it by remembering the victims and not letting their anguish go.  He couldn't get beyond their voices to remember who they were.**

Now, though…  Maybe this insight came simply **because he'd been forced to relive all those awful moments, but the universal truth in each face, in each victim, Harry realized, had been their humanity.  They were families, friends, lovers.  In the face of so much death, Harry wondered, wasn't it better to honor life?  What were all the things Voldemort was not?  Humor, love, friendship, camaraderie, compassion, empathy, sharing…  Harry began to see that the little joys Dumbledore seemed to revel in didn't make him weaker… they made him stronger.  _Yes, Dumbledore has the right of it.  It's dark outside, but that doesn't mean we can't light a fire inside to keep us warm.  Speaking of warmth…___**

Looking around at his cell, Harry realized that it in fact was larger than his cupboard under the stairs had been.  Harry shook his head bemusedly at the thought.  What a strange burst of optimism.  _It's all about perspective, isn't it?  We'll see how long it lasts once I have another vision, he thought wearily, but suspected he'd feel the same.  __I'm so cold, though…  _

**Then get under the blankets, Potter.  They're charmed, remember?** Snape snapped in annoyance.  Harry was startled out of his thought and forced his long neck to lower his face to the sheets, a strange feat considering his body still stood upright.  He took the edge of the blanket in his beak and pulled it up and over his head, effectively covering himself from head to… _talon?... with warmth.  __Much better.  __Now if we could just get rid of the Dementors…  Harry thought with faint humor.  Snape snorted in Harry's mind, and he could sense the Potions Professor's thoughtfulness.  Harry waited patiently for him to speak._

**This does put a hitch in our plans, doesn't it?** Snape observed wryly.  Harry settled into the thin mattress and let the ramifications of what he was sink in.

_Have you ever heard of anyone becoming a phoenix Animagus?  Harry asked and tried to suppress the sudden urge to cough.  He failed, and his beak opened to emit gagging sounds instead.  _

**No.  You have the distinction of being the first on record,** Snape replied.  

_I must be quite close to my Burning Day if I have no feathers at all.  If I die as a phoenix, do I die for real, or would I *rise again* like a phoenix does? Harry asked seriously.  _

**I don't know, Potter.  I must admit…  I'm stumped.  Phoenix do have innate magical abilities, but I'm unsure if you'll be able to tap them.  I suppose we can't leave you in this form until we've determined if you can survive your Burning Day,** Snape said thoughtfully after a moment.  **You did well, and I can see that your Animagus form is protecting you from the Dementors, but I'm sorry.  You'll need to change back until I talk to Albus,** Snape said after a moment, and Harry realized he could sense that Snape was indeed truly sorry.  

_It's okay, Professor.  I'm rather pleased I survived the process, Harry replied.  A brief shock shot across the bond between him and the Potions Master, but Snape remained silent for a moment.  _

**I'm going to have to leave soon, Harry.  The change back should be a little easier as you'll be returning to your human shape rather than your Animagus form.  You *know* what your body feels like.  Just concentrate on putting yourself back together again,** Snape instructed.  **I'll find out as soon as I can just what we can do with your new… abilities,** he said.  Harry closed his eyes, his shivering finally beginning to cease beneath the warm blankets.  

_I don't want to go back, Harry thought tiredly even as he began the transformation, but knew he had to.  _

**I know,** Snape said, his thoughts tinged with sympathy, and as he supplied the energy needed to aid Harry in transforming once more back into his human shape, Harry felt the bond slip between himself and the Potions Master.  Snape was releasing him back to his own body, back to the Dementors.  **I'll be as fast as I can,** he promised, and Harry fell completely back into his own nightmares until a sharp burning in his forehead brought awareness to him once again.  

His body floated away from him as he was drawn once again to Voldemort.  It appeared to be evening now and Harry could clearly see the countryside below.  Thick trees obscured all but the Muggle roads until he approached a tiny village, faint plumes of smoke rising from a few of the chimneys.  Flying quickly past the small town, Harry was drawn to a clearing just south of it where a desolate manor stood, run down and imposing.  As Harry approached it, he could see a small cemetery to the side.  The evening shadows played off the tombstones and ancient statues as he drifted past, and it took only a glimpse of the last name of one of those graves to know with awful certainty just where he was.  _Riddle.  _

Harry realized that *this* was where Cedric died, and his own memories threatened to overwhelm him for a moment as he floated beyond the graveyard, through the stone walls, down deep into the bowels of the manor, to a room lit only by firelight.  He'd begun fighting the pull now, resisting even though he knew it was futile.  It never did any good.  Two figures were in the room where Harry settled.  One sat lazily in a chair, the other kneeled at the base of the chair, his forehead pressed against the seated man's feet.  Harry knew who they both were.  

"…why you didn't tell me this earlier?  It was a perfect opportunity.  If I'd *known* he was a traitor, I'd have treated him accordingly, placing him under the Imperious Curse to poison the boy myself.  As it is, you've made me waste valuable time with the traitor," Voldemort hissed.  The room seemed thick with Dark Magic, the very air surrounding Harry felt dirty and wrong. He felt the hair rise up on the nape of his neck.  Pettigrew kneeled before Voldemort, his forehead rested on Voldemorts foot, his silver hand practically radiating power.  Harry was amazed at how weak Wormtail seemed, considering how strong the magic in Pettigrew's new hand felt to him.  

"I'm sorry, Master, but I had to know for certain.  I didn't want to reveal him unless I was sure," Pettigrew whimpered, his mouth muffled as it remained pressed against the rug covered floor.  

"You do not serve me with your mind.  You serve me with your blind obedience.  I see you need a reminder of what I do to those who fail to fulfill their roles in my service?" Voldemort hissed, and in the firelight Harry could clearly see the red eyes, narrowed in anger and annoyance.  "Crucio," he said casually, his hand lazily giving a flick of his wand,  and Pettigrew writhed on the floor at Voldemort's feet, his body spasming, writhing and kicking against invisible forces as his mouth opened to emit an agonized scream of pain.  Harry had joined him on the ground and found himself equally overwhelmed, but was able to keep his eyes open, to look into Pettigrew's face and try to see beyond his own perceptions to what his parents had seen in this man.  Nothing revealed itself.  Finally, the curse was lifted.  Pettigrew remained on the floor, his hands wrapped around his torso in pain.  He panted loudly.  

For one odd moment, Harry could have sworn Pettigrew was looking directly at him, but once the moment had passed, Harry could no longer be sure of anything.  He was exhausted and weary to his very soul. He'd endured what he had in the hopes that truths would be revealed, that he might someday be reunited with the godfather he'd grown to love in such a short time, with his friends and the people he cared about.  But he was losing stamina fast.  He hoped Snape returned soon.  He, too, was amazed that he'd survived this long, but he also knew he couldn't keep doing it much longer.  The lingering effects of the curse on Harry's senses left him raw and stripped bare to the scene unfolding before him.  

"I've summoned our dear Professor Snape, to see how he accounts for himself.  Let the others in, Wormtail," Voldemort said menacingly.  

"No!" Harry screamed from his own place on the floor.  No one heard him.

"I feel a public demonstration of just *what* I do to traitors is in order for my followers," Voldemort said, and his voice held a tint of sinister whimsy.  

"No!  Snape!  How do I reach you?  Professor Snape!  Stop!" Harry screamed, his own voice loud in the room, even as the other two occupants appeared oblivious to it.  In this scene, after all, he was just a phantom.

Harry watched in horror as Pettigrew stumbled to his feet and weaved his way to the door.  The moment he opened it, Death Eaters poured into the room, spilling around Voldemort's chair as they all fell to their knees.  "Master," they each whispered reverently, like mewling kittens, and the obscene scene began to fade just as Voldemort's anger did, placated by the adoration of his minions, allowing Harry to drift back to his own cell, into his body.  

"No!  Don't go!  It's a trap!  Please, Professor, don't go!"  The screams of a fifteen year old boy wrongfully imprisoned echoed across the island of Azkaban and fell on deaf ears.  

**TBC…**

**Author's Notes:  I promised a while back that once Harry actually became an Animagus, I'd explain my decision.  First of all, I want to thank all of your for your thoughtful suggestions and comments regarding this.  Some held terrific insight… and for those of you who disagree with my choice, let me present my case.  8-)  **

First of all, Harry's arrival as The Boy Who Lived comes from the ashes of his parent's death and the devastation of Godric's Hollow.  Secondly, his love of flying and his unnaturally adept ability in the air *begs* for him to be a winged creature of some sort (I absolutely agree with whomever said this in a review… I apologize I haven't had a chance to look up names yet to give credit where credit is due!  I thought so as well G).  

Third, and this is something a thoughtful reviewer brought to my attention, that I *absolutely* agree with, is that Harry's tears and song are healing and give people strength and hope (even the public at large).  Sirius is becoming more whole each day because of Harry.  Even Lupin has gotten more closure and understanding in his life since Harry's stepped into it (I'm just presenting canon here, not from my fic g).  Hermione and Ron I suspect have never had great friendships before like they have with Harry and each other.  

Hermione I picture having spent much of her life ostracized because of her intellect, *and* her pride in said intelligence.  Ron has spent his life as second fiddle to a string of family members, and doesn't even have the joy of being the youngest, with the (usually) spoiling tendencies that accompany it.  Ron, even as second youngest, is most definitely more of the forgotten middle child.  Harry saved Ginny.  Life from near death.  Heck, you can even say that Voldemort gains life from Harry's blood.  

Finally, and this is stretching it a bit, but you could even say that Harry's terrible burden:  Voldemort, Harry's life with the Dursleys and his role as savior of the wizarding world, could be compared to Fawkes ability to lift Harry out of the Chamber of Secrets by his tailfeathers.  He can bear unnaturally heavy burdens.  

And lastly, I leave you with these descriptive breakdowns of the different animals and their symbolic representations.  I pulled these directly from http://members.tripod.com/~onespiritx/magick18.htm for your viewing pleasure.  Tell me JKR isn't brilliant, anyway!  G  I took the liberty of making the text that struck me the most in bold.

**Dog**- Guidance, **Protection, ****Loyalty, ****Faithfullness, ****Devotion, Trust**

Deer, **Stag**- Gentleness, Healing, Connection to the Earth, Being Alert for Any Danger, Psychic Powers, **Innocence, ****Love, Kindness, Sensitivity, Pride, ****Independence, Purification****, Strength, Nobility. **

**Phoenix**- **Overcoming Impossible Odds, Reincarnation, New Life/Cycles, Cleansing Energy of Fire, ****Rebirth, Renewal, Growth Spiritually, Strength, Energy **

**Wolf- ****Facing the End of One's Cycle with Dignity and Courage, ****Death and Rebirth, Spirit Teaching, Instinct Linked with Intelligence, Social and Family Values, Outwitting Enemies, ****Steadfastness, ****Skill in Protection of Self and Family, Taking Advantage of Change, Intuition, ****Learning, the Shadow, Guardinaship, Ritual, ****Loyalty, Spirit, a Pathfinder, Psychic Energy, Inner Divinity, ****Teaching, ****Careful Study, Cunning, Escaping Hunters, Ability to Pass by Dangers Invisibly, An Astral Wolf Could Lead You to a Spiritual Teacher, ****Strong Protection, ****Spiritual Guidance in Dreams and Meditations, the Teacher, Success, ****Perseverance, Stability, Thought**

**And now, in response to all your amazing reviews! 8-)**

Dilandra: Cheers!

Sirius Black:  Yeah, yeah.  Darn spell checker did that one, and once I posted, I didn't want to pull and repost as I would lose my reviews.  I do intend to post this elsewhere as well, once it's done, and actually have a few things to clean up.  Here's a brownie for you though.  8-)

Candledot:  It was a lot of fun to hear your input as you progressed through the story.  I'm glad you still liked it by the last chapter!  8-)  Oh, and thanks!  g

Nicky:  As always, thank you SO much!  As for your review, yep, I keep trying to keep those things in check.  While I love writing, then reading feedback with each chapter, it does make foreshadowing a bit harder, as I *really* have to know what I want to introduce far enough in advance to make sure the story moves naturally and doesn't appear forced.  

Aniwda, darkphoenix (bwah hah hah), Eva Phoenix Potter (me, too), WeasleyTwinsLover1112, Anti Pasta (too true.  My mom's favorite phrase is:  Home is where no matter what you've done, they have to let you in.), Cierra (Hey, I try to update about once a week.  That's not bad, is it?  8-( Although I *was later *this* week), Laterose (hehehe… thanks!), x-woman (good job, great ideas!), person who loves Harry (nope, sorry.  Too much going on for *that*…  Good idea.  We'll see how far I take it, but I like your suggestion), Heather (Short!?  Short?!  Goodness, you're demanding! g  Hmmm.  We'll see), sk8reagle, Mella (lol  Well, we'll see what I can do…), FirePixie28, teaser (G), Sakura Blossom (glad you did!), rowan (I'll bet…  In my word document, it's 218 pages so far, not counting this chapter.  Glad you stuck with it!), SpiderGirl05 (No worries.  We're all fans here…), celebony (I'm sorry.  Once a week is about the maximum for me.  Now, if I wrote for a *living*… G), Vitamin_C2002, Katalina, Carley Watson (glad you did.  No worries), Belle:  Thank you all for your input and thoughts.  The general consensus appears to be, "How long do you intend to keep the poor boy in there!?"  Hehehehe…  I appreciate all your kind words, and hope you're still intrigued!  

Anoni:  Me, too.  Poor man.  He's such a tragic, noble character.  He carries his pain discretely.  I do as well (although Snape intrigues me as well).  I'd kind of thought so, but realistically, Hermione would still perceive Crookshanks as a pet.  My thoughts were: a) Dogs have owners.  Cats have staff, and b) Hermione was trying to unnerve Skeeter.  The only thing better she could have done was mention how much Crookshanks likes to play with bugs!  8-)  Thanks!   And for the second review:  Thanks for reading it all again!  I like your observations about Dumbledore.  Believe it or not, I have a reason for Dumbledore's…  hand's off approach.  You'll see (I hope).  Hopefully, you'll come to understand *why* he's done what he's done.  It's been one of my biggest challenges.  How can someone *so* powerful do so little?  Well… do keep in mind that *he* can't stop Voldemort.  He's a challenge and a threat, but not the victor.  Of course, how on earth can Harry be all that?  Stay tuned…  Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't…  Sorry about the wait, but here's the next chapter!

Lisette: Well, thank you!  LOL  Well…  We'll have to see about that…

Sakura:  Mine as well.  Absolutely!  I agree!  Of course, Hermione is quite strong!  And Minerva as well!  Don't forget her.  I see her being not *quite* as strong as Dumbledore, but very helpful nonetheless!

Juushiita:  Sorry if it was jerky.  It's odd to transition back and forth, but I've enjoyed it.  Sorry…  I have my hands full so far.  I have a hard time fleshing out Ginny without fearing I'm making her into my own Mary Sue.  Now don't get me wrong:  People have done it, and done it amazingly well!  It's just that, from my perspective, as I've written this story, I've tried to keep as much in canon with JKR as I could, and Ginny just hasn't come *alive* for me like the others.  This isn't to say that she won't in the future, but in this story…  Oooh, I'm glad you think it's smooth!  If you like, I can email you when I update.  Otherwise, I think there's an alert thing you can set up within ff.net.  I haven't done it myself, but…  I hear it's possible.  Thanks!

Aniron:  Yep.  Sure do!  You're officially on the list.  Sorry about the cliffhanger.  Hehehehe…  Sorry you had to wait.  Hope the chapter's worth it!  

Akasha: Queen of the Damned (lol  Well… I don't think I'll be sending this to her anytime soon, but…  Thank you.  Each time I read someone else say I really should get published, I get all giggly.  I love it.  I'm SOOO glad I posted.  Thank you so much for the kind compliments!  They *really* mean a lot to me.  You have no idea…  Haven't seen the movie yet.  Thanks for the recommendation.  

Wonder: We'll see.  That's going to be hard.  She's going to have to go against the MOM *and* public opinion to publish the truth.  I hope she's up to it.   Thank you!

Gypsy Romance: Hmmm.  Hope it got better the second time.  I've been trying to keep the transitions understandable.   Me too!  Yep, Molly's responses surprised me as well.  I knew how she'd feel, but was unsure how it would come across.  Glad I succeeded!  Oooh, I liked your Percy stereotypes, and that mine didn't fit within them!  Yippee!  Me, too.  Wish I could study like her.  If I were her, I would have considered feeding Skeeter to Crookshanks.  Think of how cats like to play with bugs first…  Okay.  That was a little sinister, wasn't it?  The real Hermione is a kinder, gentler girl…  g

Green Eyed Knight:  Well, Harry's technically not 1st person.  Snape is the only one.  I had a reason in mind for this.  Besides… now that I've done it… He's *adorable* to write in the first person.  I love his snarky thoughts.  Harry's thoughts are in the 1st person because it fits.  Harry won't think, "How is he going to do this?"  He'll think, "How am I going to do this?"  I put his *direct* thoughts in italic.  Everything else is in 3rd person.  Sorry if I've made it confusing.  

Dilandra:  Higher compliments are hard to come by.  I giggled when you mentioned you felt compelled to pray for him.  And here I'm plotting all kinds of things to *do* to him!  Bwah hah hah hah! 8-)  Thank you very much.

PurePsychicEspeon: Oh, I was just messing with you…  I couldn't resist.  I liked your suggestions!  I just already had a form in mind…  Kind of takes the fun out of it, doesn't it?  I've heard rumblings about that…  I would be mightily pi**ed if she did!  Well, thank you to you and your cousin both!  Hope you liked my choice, and the reasons why!  8-)

Colleen: Well *thank you* kicks toe bashfully against the floor.  Okay.  I'm blushing now.  I *love* it.  Hehehehe.  I giggled like crazy as I wrote that scene.  Oh, no.  Hermione simply doesn't want to get in trouble.  It's not necessarily that she's a stickler about rules.  I like that about her.  Thanks.  I liked that as well.  Dragons… you'll see more about that…  Heck, I had no idea *I* liked Percy that much.  I thought he was a dweeb in the books, but… while writing the story I had so much fun jumping into different people's perspectives, and Percy's seemed to have so much *potential*.  You bet this is going to haunt him for a while.  Rightfully so!  8-)  Ooooh, I like that.  Might do that one.  I know.  It always comes back to poor Harry, doesn't it?  Well, I hope you liked this chapter.  Your kind reviews mean a ton to me!  Thank you!

Mara Arwen Black-McGregor:  Thanks.  Yeah, Remus is a complex one to write.  Talk about contradictions!  Yes, I definitely see the protectiveness and steadfast loyalty of a dog within Sirius.  Hehehehe.  I like your comparison.  I hadn't thought of it that way, but you're right.  At least Harry doesn't lie to himself.   Hehehe…  I can't say that I'm sorry I made you cry.  On the contrary, it's quite the compliment!  You know, I thought at the time to address that comment, but forgot about it.  My thoughts go along these lines: I heard a joke once.  Dogs have owners.  Cats have staff.  (I myself have 4 cats and 1 dog.  Talk about high maintenance!)  Hermione was mostly saying that to make Skeeter nervous, but there's truth in that Crookshanks is very much his own… cat?  Kneazle? I think she'd still view him as her pet, just… something more as well.  Nope, not nit-picky at all.  I might throw in something for the integrity of the story in a later chapter about that, but we'll see.  The best intentions of mice and men…  No worries.  I spend hours on this story, plus reading fanfiction myself.  Wow.  Potter's Anonymous, where are you?  Oh, wait.  New movie coming.  New book coming.  Maybe I'll start tomorrow… tomorrow… tomorrow…  8-)

Tempest Princess:  Nicely put!  I definitely agree with you.  It's like the difference between watching the news and living it.  They're worlds apart.

Bobbi:  I absolutely know what you mean.  Snape all warm and fuzzy?  Pah!  Thank you very much!

Draconic Ragnorock:  Really?  We'll see…  

Lei Dumbledore: Well, I took longer with this one than the previous, but in my defense, it also *is* longer…  I'm going as fast as I can!  8-)

Moonlight Yellow:  lol  Well, uh, maybe *sometimes* g.  James and Sirius were closer, but I always saw James as the glue of the group.  I don't see Remus as having as much in common with Sirius, especially after what he did to Snape…  They were close friends, but…  James was still the glue.  Otherwise, how could Sirius have suspected Remus, and Remus believed what Sirius was accused of?  You know what?  I've looked everywhere, and I don't think you did!  With all that Sirius has done (escaped Azkaban, tracked down Pettigrew, survived on the run, etc., I believe I just *assumed* he was.  It's not canon.  Heck, but I was sure it was.  So, consider it author's liberty.  Buy the premise, buy the bit. g  I *totally* agree.  Heck, poor Harry has no business being there at all!  Okay, I'm intrigued.  What about garden gnomes?  8-)  I don't think it's possible to make Fudge likeable after what he's done.  He's actually rather sinister.  I've met people like him before… They look harmless, but will do *anything* they feel they have to to justify their cause, etc.  I gave you *lots* of Snape this time, though.  Does that help?  And thank you very much!  I hope to someday do just that.


	29. Hope

****

Disclaimer: HP… Still not mine…

Chapter 29

Arthur kneeled in the bushes just outside the home of Arvel and Deirdre Barnes. The green haze of the Dark Mark swirled lazily in the early morning mist. It had begun to sprinkle, and the soothing sound of drops pattering against the leaves as Arthur held his breath, ears tuned to listen for *any* sounds at all, seemed inappropriately peaceful. The faintest hint of grey in the distance indicated that sunrise would be in a couple of hours.

"Stop it," Remus Lupin's voice rumbled from behind Arthur. The faint scratching of quill against parchment ceased in the darkness. Rita Skeeter had been scribbling away for nearly five minutes now as they waited outside the home on the outskirts of Greenocke, searching for any movement before proceeding inside. 

"What? You wanted a reporter here. You've got one," Rita Skeeter whispered irritably. 

"Words are meaningless. Refutable. Take pictures. You can write the story later. Right now we need the images of proof burned indelibly in everyone's mind that Voldemort has indeed returned. If your story doesn't get published, the pictures can surface some other way," Remus said quietly. Arthur listened as the parchment was rolled up and the rustle of fabric indicated that Skeeter had indeed listened. A faint shutter click gave a tell tale sign that she had a camera with her. Arthur felt grim satisfaction at the realization that the first proof was finally being collected of Death Eater attacks. 

"Shall we?" Bill asked from the darkness to Arthur's left. His voice was calm and efficient. 

"I'll circle around back, you two flank Arthur. Ms. Skeeter, keep close but don't get in anyone's way," Remus instructed. Arthur raised an eyebrow silently. For a professor, Remus appeared remarkably efficient at field work. Arthur grunted his agreement, wand held tight, as he stood and began to quietly proceed towards the house. 

The scent of rain hung in the air, fresh and inviting. As Arthur crept up the stoop to the front door, he repressed a sense of pride as his two eldest sons stepped closer to him in silent communication, closing rank. It appeared they had every intention of protecting him. Arthur took a deep breath and approached the door. It opened of its own accord, causing all three men to spring aside, wands raised and spells ready. Skeeter remained where she was standing just a few feet from the front porch, wide eyed with the camera held in her hand, temporarily forgotten in her stunned shock. Remus Lupin stood at the door, an eyebrow raised appraisingly. 

"No one's here," Remus said in a normal voice. It was still slightly hushed, but somehow that seemed appropriate. "We've got to hurry. I don't know how long it will be until the Ministry gets here." 

Bill cursed under his breath as he stood up, brushing the leaves off his clothes. Charlie sighed in relief. "He's fast," he commented, and Bill grunted in response. As they walked to the front door, where light shone faintly within, Arthur watched as Charlie eyed Remus appraisingly. 

Arthur held his breath as the acrid scent of vomit filled his nostrils. He paused and closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself. Bill rested a hand on Arthur's shoulder in silent comfort. Arthur nodded, reached over his shoulder and patted his son's hand reassuringly before proceeding. 

The home was in a shambles. Chairs were overturned, mirrors broken, doors were blasted off their hinges. Dark magic hung thickly in the air, its foul energy nearly tactile. It coated the room like a pollutant, like the residue of dirty smoke against the fibers of the chair cushion, the couch, their robes. It clouded the windows and obscured the room, dimmed lights and muted voices. Arthur had to repress the urge to gag as he saw a masculine hand, the body it was attached to hidden behind an overturned couch. The fingers were bloody, the nails torn and broken, and as Arthur stepped closer, he saw that it was indeed Arvel's hand. His face was frozen in a rictor of pain, his eyes wide and pleading. There was no recognition there, only bewildered suffering. 

Arthur closed his eyes for a moment. Arvel had been a kind man, simple and honest. He seemed to have boundless energy for all the little tasks Deirdre set out for him. _What were those called? Honey-Dos. 'Honey, do this, honey do that'_, Arthur thought distractedly, and had to fight the wave of rage and helplessness he felt as he looked at Arvel, at the indignity and cruelty the man had had to face in his last moments. 

He'd been passionate about gardening. He wore the same three outfits rain or shine. He liked to paint, but refused to call it art. _Dabbling. He liked to say he was a dabbler. I swear he said it simply because he liked how the word itself sounded_. He loved Deirdre enough to be willing to give up the only life he'd ever known just to be with her. She wouldn't let him, of course, but Arthur had learned a lot from the courage of their relationship nonetheless. 

The only reason Voldemort deemed Arvel worthy to deserve this death was because he was a Muggle. Deirdre had probably never even spoken of Voldemort. Arvel died not even understanding *why*, or what his attackers wanted. The faint sound of a shutter clicking indicated that Rita Skeeter had recovered from her shock.

"That's bloody awful," Charlie said softly. Arthur didn't bother to correct him. 

"What should we do?" Bill asked Remus, looking around the room. "Should we gather some artifacts? Other than the pictures… what we really need is to drag a bunch of officials out of bed to see this for themselves," he said, the disgust and anger in his voice a sentiment he could see in each of their faces. 

"It's ironic to think that *she* can do the most here," Charlie said to Bill, nodding his head at Rita. She appeared to ignore them both.

More than anything, Arthur wanted to place a blanket over Arvel, or at least try to close his eyes. He hated leaving the man in the undignified position they'd found him in. He deserved better than that. Arthur proceeded further into the room and saw Deirdre's crumpled form for the first time. 

He knew it had to be her, although he hadn't seen her in years. Her hair was still that beautiful lustrous brown, although now it was also flecked with streaks of white. It spilled around her much like it had when she'd take him and his brothers swimming in the lake out back in the summertime. She'd filled out, fleshy in that 'I'm committed and he loves me as I am' sort of way. Arthur had gotten over his crush years ago, but the tender fondness obviously still remained. The constriction in his throat increased as he approached the woman who for several years had babysat him and his five brothers as a child. 

Deirdre had been the one to reassure him when he'd first arrived at Hogwarts. He'd been terrified, convinced for some reason that he wouldn't be Gryffindor like the rest of his family. He was, of course. After he'd been sorted, Deirdre waved for him to sit next to her. She'd made him feel welcome. It was the first time he'd ever been separated from his family, and as the eldest, he'd left his brothers behind. Hogwarts wasn't home, but with her help it was close enough. She'd walked him to class the first couple of days until he'd gotten oriented with the staircases, and each Christmas she left him peanut brittles underneath the tree, a favorite Muggle treat he'd learned to love early on. 

He did the same for his brothers, welcomed them and waved cheerily as each of them had been sorted. All Gryffindors of course. He'd walked them to class until they made friends of their own. He warned them about the teachers to watch out for, and what classes were the most fun. 

Deirdre drifted out of his life, but the thoughtful way she'd treated him never left his mind. When the scandal broke of her falling in love with a Muggle, and Arthur heard her family was threatening to disown her, he had some of her girlfriends leave a tin of peanut brittle on her bed with the promise that his own family had extended: _Whatever happens, you always have a place with us_. 

She'd finished Hogwarts and immediately married Arvel afterwards. As Arthur sat next to Molly, whom he'd been dating for nearly a year by then, and he saw the love in Arvel's eyes as he gazed at Deirdre coming down the isle… Arthur realized he felt the same. About Molly. He proposed six months later.

Arthur slowly crossed the floor and stepped around her until he could see her face. He'd never seen anything like it. Her eyes were wide, her pupils rolled nearly inside her head. Her mouth was open in a frozen scream, saliva still stuck to either side of her face, and Arthur could see that it was her that had been sick. Arthur knew as he looked down on Deirdre's agonized expression that she'd been driven mad before she'd died. They'd inflicted the Cruciatus Curse until she'd gone insane, and then they'd killed her. 

"This is what Harry dreams," Remus said as he came to stand beside Arthur. "And I thought *we* were trying to protect *him*," he said cryptically. 

"Even in Azkaban he can't escape this," Bill said as he looked around him, shaking his head. Arthur got the sense that Bill was only now beginning to internalize what Harry had been experiencing. _It's always different when you *see* it, isn't it? That's what they're afraid of_, Arthur thought of Fudge's frantic cover-up, and a deep fury burned within him for the devastation of two precious lives. The fact that one was Muggle made it no less magical in his mind. 

"You knew them?" Remus asked gently. Arthur nodded. _If only I could reposition her. I know she'd be so much more comfortable_, Arthur thought distractedly, and had to physically shake himself out of *that* kind of thinking. He'd known it would be much harder because he was friends with them. He'd tried to prepare himself. Molly had too. _But some things you just can't prepare for, can you? Some things you shouldn't have to_. 

"How about trace residue on artifacts that could only come clearly from here? This place is thick with Dark Magic. How could they dispute that?" Charlie asked the room in general. 

"We can't prove it wasn't stolen and about to be pawned in Knockturn Alley before we found the items. They could even say *we* stole the objects and infused them with Dark Magic to try to give credence to Dumbledore's warnings," Bill answered. Arthur raised his eyes from Deirdre to see both sons appraising him quietly. Remus still stood at his side, his hazel eyes on Skeeter as well. Skeeter was busily clicking away as she slowly took pictures of the room, as if she was intending to piece it together into a panoramic photo. 

"What am I thinking? _Integritas_," she said abruptly, and slapped her forehead with her hand, then turned to head outside. 

"Where are you going?" Charlie asked her. 

"I've used a spell to protect the integrity of the photos. It insures that no one's tampered with them. I want more pictures of the Dark Mark," she said, her voice hard. 

"Then by all means continue. I'll go with her," Charlie called to the men in the room. 

"At the first sign the Ministry is moving in we *must* leave. They can have *no* idea we've been here," Remus said, looking at Charlie intently. 

"I'll go with them as well, and keep watch," Bill volunteered. Remus nodded to both men and watched as the procession filed outside. 

"Are you okay?" Remus asked Arthur gently. Arthur shook his head. 

"Some things just shouldn't happen. *This* shouldn't happen. They didn't **do** anything!," Arthur said, gesturing sharply at the room. "Harry *shouldn't* be in Azkaban. Sometimes I feel like there's just so few good people left… and the number continues to dwindle. There are entirely too many Lucius Malfoys and not nearly enough Dumbledores. Too many predators and not enough protectors. The people I work with… they're good people, Remus. All of the Ministry of Magic isn't like this. But all it takes is a little bit of power and fear, and look what can happen? Look what does happen when they're too afraid to speak up," Arthur asked, his voice quiet, subdued, yet still thick with frustration and grief. 

"We're close, Arthur. He won't last much longer, and the next Minister we get won't… *we can't let him* ignore this, put his head in the sand. Fudge is as guilty of murder as Voldemort. Precautions could have been taken; alarm charms could have been set; portkeys placed strategically," Remus said, jerking his head unconsciously to the places Arthur suspected Remus would have placed them. "Too many families don't know what's happened to their children, their parents, and their siblings. It wasn't good enough for them," Remus said, gesturing to Deirdre and Arvel, "but we're at least trying to stop it from happening again." Arthur sighed. 

"I know, of course you're right. It's just that…" Arthur said and allowed his voice to drift off. 

"It doesn't feel like enough. I know. Trust me I know," Remus said, his eyes thick with emotion. 

__

And then there's Harry, Arthur thought, Harry's quiet resolve as Molly tried to protect him burned into his mind. He'd only had a chance to look at Harry a couple of times when they'd raided the Burrow. Arthur spent most of his time trying to talk them out of it, to disarm them to more peaceful options. Truly he should have known better. He ***did*** know better. He knew what Aurors were like; decent blokes, but more prone to wands than words. But he still had to try. 

The few times he'd seen Harry, his green eyes unfathomable as he obviously watched a scene played out he'd been waiting for, dreading... _That's it_, Arthur thought, stirring his mind away from Deirdre's horrific last moments. _There's things to do. Quit wallowing. Harry's alive out there, and still trying to save lives, Merlin help him. There's much to be done. _ Footsteps pattered up the front stoop. Remus already had his wand out and pointed at him as Charlie poked his head in the door. He blinked momentarily at Remus, then looked at Arthur.

"They're coming," Charlie said quietly. 

"Front or back?" Remus asked. 

"Back," Charlie replied and nodded his head. "Dad, we've got to go," he said sympathetically. Arthur took one last look at the fallen couple and stepped towards the door. Remus moved quickly behind him as they swept outdoors and into the surrounding countryside. The grey sky was beginning to blush faintly with the first rays of sunrise. The Dark Mark still hung, it's bright green starkly out of place in the misty morning. Arthur knew when he was approaching Bill and Rita Skeeter by the shutter click. 

"Can't you silence that bloody camera? Do you *want* them to know we're here?" Charlie whispered harshly. A muttered word did just that. Arthur soon found himself kneeling between Rita Skeeter and Bill. Charlie was whispering to Remus, evidently planning how long it would be safe to remain to take pictures. 

"Alright, dad?" Bill asked softly. Arthur nodded. _Words seem so… superficial lately_. _They never convey enough_. The words he used to tell his sons how much he loved them never carried what he wanted to say. How proud he was of them. How awed that something Molly and he had created had grown into such amazing, beautiful children, and how he never felt worthy enough to have been so lucky. 

"Thanks, Bill," Arthur said, and Bill frowned at the emotion in Arthur's voice.

"It's time," Remus said, indicating the Ministry officials that now appeared to be swarming the home in full force. Arthur could see the gleam in Skeeter's eyes as she continued to take picture after picture. 

He felt the scroll in his robe pocket and *knew* now was the time, but still found himself reluctant to turn it over. He held a precious truth, a life, in his hands, and to entrust it with… that shallow, pretentious, preening, lazy gossip columnist seemed to denigrate what Harry had had to endure. It was the truth of Percy's folly and ignorance… She just simply wasn't *worthy* of it. 

Remus herded her after the rest of them as they proceeded into a clearing in the surrounding woods. The rain had softened the ground enough that they traveled silently, cloaked by the steady patter of drizzle against the tree tops. Only the occasional muttered curse as Skeeter stepped into yet another puddle or muddy patch in the tiny game trail gave away their presence at all. When at last Remus and Bill seemed comfortable for them to Apparate, Arthur turned to Skeeter and reluctantly pulled out the scroll of Harry's true testimony under Veritaserum. 

"What do you intend to do with what you've gotten tonight?" Arthur asked her. Bill and Charlie automatically took to guarding opposite sides of the clearing as Remus approached Arthur and Skeeter. 

"It's the story of the century. Print it of course," Skeeter replied. 

"Ms. Skeeter," Remus said and glanced at the scroll in Arthur's hands. He seemed to understand Arthur's reluctance to part with it. "You understand, if the Ministry gets wind of this beforehand, they could very well force your paper to not print it," he said. Skeeter snorted. 

"Please, do you think I'm stupid? I may not be moral, but I'm not *dim* either," she replied, and looked truly aggrieved to think they both thought so. 

"So what will you do if the Ministry *does* get wind of this story?" Remus asked. 

"The secret to every explosive exposé ever printed is simple… Wait until the absolutely *last* minute to get it to your editor, stay with them until it's proofed, and have it in print before anyone knows what's hit 'em," she said, her voice thick with relish. 

"Can you trust your editor?" Remus pursued. She nodded vigorously. 

"Not a whit. But he's a greedy bastard, so no matter *how much* anyone offered to pay him to tip them off to troubling stories, he'll print this. He's hungry for a promotion," she said with what Arthur could only describe as a *fond* smile on her face. Arthur handed her the scroll abruptly, pressing it into her hands and pulling his own away before his instincts overcame reason and he grabbed it back. "What's this?" she asked and raised an eyebrow appraisingly as she detected some of the authenticity charms place on it. 

"Proof of Voldemort's return, and Fudge's direct participation in a cover-up to prevent that knowledge from becoming public," Arthur said. 

"Testimony, then? I recognize these seals. Someone under Veritaserum. Who?" Skeeter asked curiously. Information clearly appeared to be her narcotic of choice. She almost seemed to be slightly salivating. 

"Harry Potter," Remus said. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the two men for a moment. "Congratulations, Ms. Skeeter. You discredited him enough in the public's eye to make him a target for the Minister of Magic himself," he said with steely menace. Arthur felt the hairs rise on the nape of his neck as he glanced at the expressionless face of the former Defense Against Dark Arts professor. 

"Is he… he's just, what? Fifteen? Did he survive… intact?" she asked, and Arthur frowned at the strange tone in her voice. He didn't quite know what to make of it. 

"They gave an adult dose," Arthur said, his own voice sounded odd as well. "Fudge refused to believe him, so they gave him the full amount," he stated. 

"*Did he survive it?*" she asked again. Arthur nodded. "Well…" she said, clearly about to dismiss the incident.

"But Fudge still refused to accept it. Harry Potter is currently in Azkaban awaiting trial," Arthur said coldly. She frowned, and Arthur saw a variety of emotions flicker across her face before settling on a scowl. 

"What? Do you think that's *my* fault? Do you think *that* is my fault?" she demanded, nearly snarling as she pointed back towards the Dark Mark, her thick bracelets clanking against each other loudly in her violent gestures. "What do you want from me, Arthur Weasley, because I'm not sure I like where this is going," she asked aggressively. Evidently her personal motto was any good defense was made up of a strong offense.

Arthur stepped forward, his face close to hers. "I'm not sure *what* I expected, Ms. Skeeter. Remorse? Guilt? You slandered a child and made him a target. You isolated him from his friends and exploited his pain. I find you an obscenity, Ms. Skeeter, and it appalls me to entrust *that*," he said, pointing to the scroll, "into your care. However, circumstances warrant bizarre alliances, but know this… I've put Harry Potter's life into your hands. If somehow this story never gets published or is not given the credit it deserves… Voldemort is not the only one who can make people disappear," Arthur said in a perfectly calm voice. Remus, Charlie, and Bill all stared at him, stunned. He ignored them. Rita Skeeter looked deeply into his eyes, and Arthur wasn't sure what she saw there, but it was enough for him to feel she understood the full weight of his words. 

"Threats, Arthur Weasley, don't become you. Stick to your Muggle coddling. I'll print the story not because you want me too, but because it's *news*," she said and stepped back, scroll clutched close to her chest. She looked at the men watching her, her lips pursed. Arthur would have felt his promise fell on deaf ears had he not noticed how the scroll trembled in her hands just seconds before she Apparated. 

"Blimey, dad. That was… new," Charlie said, frowning as he said it. Remus put a hand on Arthur's shoulder and squeezed, before removing it. 

"It's time to leave, gentlemen," Remus said. Arthur nodded. 

"You'll return to help Sirius now?" he asked. Remus nodded. 

"I'll inform the Headmaster of the latest developments, then track him down and join him, yes," Remus replied. 

"Good hunting," Arthur said. Remus' smile was almost predatory, and his expression promised a great many things. None of them pleasant for Pettigrew.

"Good hunting," Charlie said and shook Remus' hand warmly. 

"Good hunting," Bill said, and as he shook his hand he also gently smacked Remus on the shoulder. 

"Keep your family safe," Remus said. 

"And yours as well," Arthur replied. Remus nodded in understanding, then Apparated. 

"Come on, dad. Let's get you home. You're soaked. If you get a chill, mum's going to kill us," Charlie said and wrapped his arm around his father's shoulder affectionately. Arthur closed his eyes and smiled. _Molly_. It was time to go home. 

********************************************************************

Ron tossed the parchment up and over his head in exasperation. It fluttered to the ground as all those sitting at the table watched him. "I'm getting thoroughly cheesed off by all the strange little cost idiosyncrasies I keep finding," he said and straightened his legs, leaning back and forcing his dining room chair onto only two legs. It whimpered pathetically. 

"Idiosyncrasies?" Hermione asked. 

"And here I thought all that time you've spent with Hermione would turn you into a cabbage," Fred said admiringly. "Bravo, Ms. Granger," he said and stood up, bowing slightly towards her, mocking Ron's use of bigger words. Ron frowned darkly at Fred.

"What are you talking about, Ron?" Ginny asked, her chin resting awkwardly on the palm of one hand while the other continued to sort through the pile of parchments and scrolls. Her eyes looked glazed with fatigue.

"This," Ron said, the chair thumping heavily back on the ground as he tossed her the parchment he was talking about. She frowned for a moment while she scanned it, then glared at Hermione who had her hand held out, anxious to look at it. She even began to snap her fingers demandingly.

"Let me see," Hermione implored. Ginny narrowed her eyes for a moment, then handed Hermione the parchment. She snatched it quickly from Ginny and scanned it top to bottom. 

"Do you know what I'm talking about?" Ron asked. Hermione looked up distractedly. 

"I didn't see anything weird," Ginny observed. Fred and George by now were watching with keen interest. Percy had come back into the dining room from the kitchen, a teapot in his hands and another plate of crumpets from their mother. 

"What's this?" Percy asked as he set the pot in the center of the table and scooted a place for the plate, his eyes landing on the parchment behind Ron's chair. "Do *try* to keep a semblance of order, Ron. I'm going to have to piece all this back together after you're done," he said in weary irritation. Even though it seemed Percy was scolding more out of habit than anything else, it still made Ron's hackles rise. 

"Sorry for any *hardship* this has caused you, Percy. We wouldn't want to *inconvenience* you in any way… Say… saving someone's life? Perhaps?" Ron asked, his tone sharp, baiting. _Just try it_, he thought, even as he recognized that, although he was beyond furious with Percy, he was also looking to take out some of his frustration and anguish on him as well. 

"Ron, I'm as up for *Percy bashing* as the next bloke, but do you mind? What are you and Hermione on about?" Fred asked, annoyed. Percy turned flat eyes on Ron. 

"I'm talking about *this*," Ron said and grabbed the parchment out of Hermione's hands. She was already handing it over when he yanked it from her, and she shot him an agitated glance. 

"No more tea for Ron," she announced. "I'm cutting you off," Hermione said, then watched keenly as Ron stood and handed the document to Percy, frowning as he scanned it. "I noticed it too, Ron, but I didn't think it was something we could use. It could be anything research," she commented. 

"Would someone just tell us *what*?" George said wearily. Ron looked up inquiringly as well. 

"What doesn't look right?" Percy asked curiously. 

"This _Dracontine Division_," Ron said, tapping the parchment in Percy's hands as he stood next to him. "There are monthly charges, and then there are *these*," he pointed to a number that made Percy's eyebrows raise. 

"I see your point," Percy said after a moment, letting out a little breath. 

"Hello," Bill said as he stepped out of the fireplace and into the living room. Arthur and Charlie quickly followed. 

"Dad!" Ron said and smiled hugely. 

He'd been terrified at the thought of his father out with Death Eaters and rogue Ministry of Magic people. Intellectually, he *knew* his father was a capable man, but he certainly didn't reinforce the appearance of maturity and assured competence when Ron saw how he acted around anything to do with Muggle technology. It made Ron feel oddly protective of him. 

Of course, he was too manly to hug him, though. At least he was reassured that Fred and George seemed to be looking equally relieved and nonchalant at the same time as well. It therefore took Ron by surprise when Percy quickly crossed the room, parchment still in hand, and hugged his father, then reached out to pat both of his brothers on the back in relief. Bill and Charlie both looked equally stunned. Percy was *not* the affectionate type. While their expressions weren't necessarily open and welcoming, they weren't hostile anymore either.

"How did it go?" Ron asked. _Please let it be good news. For *once* let it be good news. _

"Rita Skeeter has *ample* evidence. I'm hoping we'll see it in print as early as today," Arthur Weasley said and hugged Percy back, then smiled gently as he reached out and pulled both Charlie and Bill to him as well. "You did good, boys," he said. 

Charlie began to blush, and Bill was trying to look dignified while still hugging his dad back. _Give it up, Bill_, Ron thought with a smile. It was nice to see, though. Molly Weasley was the physically affectionate one, and although Arthur was a kind and loving man, it was more often expressed in words and thoughtful gestures than hugs. He often said that 'it means a great deal more to a person to be *shown* they're loved rather than told'. 

"Thank Merlin," Molly Weasley said from the kitchen doorway and walked briskly across the room, enveloping Ron's dad in a tight hug. They stayed that way for quite a while. 

"Should we leave?" Hermione whispered to Ron. He shrugged and looked at Ginny. She frowned as she watched her parents. 

"I don't think so," Ginny said, but her wide eyes indicated she was considering it. Arthur Weasley sighed deeply, his breath blowing whisps of Molly Weasley's loose hair from her bun up and out before he rubbed her back, a reassuring gesture. She reluctantly let go and looked at him closely, holding his hand in hers. 

"Are you okay?" she asked him gently. Ron felt like he and his siblings were invisible, and as if he were intruding in a very private moment of his parents. 

"Perhaps we should," Ron said quietly and began sidling for the kitchen. 

"I am now," Arthur Weasley said and squeezed her hands. "Don't leave," he said to Ron. "It's okay. You don't have to leave. How are things here? Have you found anything suspicious?" he asked them all, and although his tone was hopeful, his expression was already resigned.

"Actually…" Ron said and Percy collected himself, looking down at the parchment still in his hands. Arthur Weasley's face immediately began to brighten, his eyes lighting up with interest.

"Yes?" he asked.

"I think they have, but I don't know what it is yet. Maybe you can help, Charlie," Percy said and handed the document to his brother. Charlie looked over it for a few seconds and frowned. 

"What am I supposed to be seeing?" Charlie asked warily. 

"Ron spotted some odd charges billed to the _Dracontine Division_. They're normally paid once a month. I know what those are. But here are some anomalous charges for nearly six times that amount. I know this is a branch of the _Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau _because Newt Scamander signed off on the expenses, but… I'm not sure there are any new projects authorized, now that I think about it," Percy said, shaking his head. "Research divisions generally get more leeway financially anyway, so it would never have set off any alarms with me. Not with all the proper signatures."

"The _Dracontine Division_ is pretty narrow in focus, Percy. They only research one aspect of the dragon. Dragon anatomy, to be specific," Charlie said. They all looked at him expectantly. "The Pyretostium Spiraero gland," he said and smiled, as if he'd explained it all. They all blinked once, then again. 

"In layman's terms, Charlie. I never dreamed there'd be a day when you spoke words I didn't understand," Bill joked wryly. Charlie mock punched him. 

"It's the gland dragons use to breathe fire," Charlie explained. Hermione's quick intake of breath mirrored Ron's own. They looked at each other anxiously, and Ron felt his heart begun to thud loudly in his chest. 

"What?" Arthur Weasley said, frowning at Ron. 

"How hot is dragon fire, Charlie?" Ron asked and realized his palms were beginning to sweat. 

"Bloody hot," Charlie replied, frowning, as he distractedly began to itch a burn scar on his forearm. 

"Hot enough to cremate human bodies?" Hermione whispered, her eyes wide. 

"Over 1000 degrees Celsius, which should be plenty," Charlie replied. The room was silent as each they all looked at each other, stunned. The room was utterly still. 

"That's it," Arthur said, breaking the silence and startling Hermione as he stared at Ron. He looked up at Percy, a quiet energy replacing the fatigue in his eyes. "Are you authorized to make inspections?" he asked briskly. Percy nodded, his face chalky white. He looked vaguely to Ron like he might be going into shock. "We need a sample of any ash in that facility. Have you ever been there, Charlie? Do you know the layout?" he asked. Charlie shook his head. 

"I haven't, but I know of a bloke who has. I can have him draw a map easily enough. Will that do?" he asked Percy. Percy nodded, and Charlie turned, grabbing a handful of Floo powder and striding once more through the fireplace. 

"Your Professor Snape should be able to determine what the components of the ash are made of, and we'll have an answer," Arthur said and let out a deep breath. "Merlin, let our luck finally be changing," he prayed aloud. Molly Weasley hugged him once more, then rounded on Ron, a proud smile on her face. 

"Very clever, Ronald. You've always been such a clever boy," she said proudly and engulfed him in a hug. Hermione was grinning foolishly, and Ron couldn't help the burbling laugh of relief that escaped him as his mother crushed the air out of his lungs. _This *has* to be right. _He knew it. _Bastards_, he thought. _Hang on, Harry. We're almost there. Let us be in time_, Ron begged whatever deities that may be listening. _Let him survive this_. 

****

TBC…

Cierra, Rissa (hope the pacing still works), Nexus, WeasleyTwinsLover1112 (sorry for the delay), vmr, evil spapple pie (I can't tell you that! g I agree), PixyChick (thanks!), J. Lynn (Glad you liked it! Snape next chapter, honest!), Sakura Le (nope, haven't answered that. You'll see! Thanks!), Heather, Gracie (thank you very much! Glad that worked!), Laterose (hehehe. giggles at the review Mission accomplished), psychochick (shhhhh! giggles at your plea I am the queen of Harry torture!!! Bwah hah hah hah!), Lynx, Tempest Princess, Lisette G, kapies, di, LittleEar BigEar's sis, stormyfire, ShelaghC (Sirius next chapter!), Fleur, Kaydee (missed your reviews, but totally understand. Welcome back!): So…. The general consensus is that everyone approves of Harry's Animagus form. Yippee! I knew I could win you over to my side. Really. So, the Burning Day adds interesting angles, doesn't it? Lots more Snape and Harry (and Sirius) next chapter. Thanks for the kind reviews. I'm still trying to keep to the once a week timeline, but as I'm sure you've noted, I am slipping. I'm working on it, but hey… at least I'm trying! Just lots of stuff to squeeze into these chapters lately. g I'll get them out as fast as I can. 

Michelle: Now how can someone tire of Harry torture? I mean, truly! g It certainly gives me a bit of flexibility, doesn't it? 8-) Nope, reviews are *never* long-winded. G

PurePsychicEspeon: lol Shitake! I love it! More Snape next time, same Bat time, same Bat channel! 

Tanya: Yes, Snape makes an excellent impartial witness, doesn't he? Yep, it does to me. That's a question a lot of people have asked. I don't think so. Perhaps others. We'll have to see, though… 8-) Ah, the bond. Lots to learn about that next chapter, honest! Thanks!!! G

Sherylyn: Hope this last chapter didn't disappoint! I know. I totally missed that whole *beetle* reference when I was reading JKR, but it clicked afterwards. I'm evil. I know. I just happen to hate Skeeter, mostly, I think, because there was no way Harry could defend himself from her. Glad for any reviews I can get. Homework seems to be everyone's general misery lately. Except me, of course. 

Anoni: G Yes, that's how I see much of his life. He's still so innocent, without the harsh barriers most people in circumstances such as his would develop. He's remained shockingly kind, despite all the cruelty he's endured. If I don't have a chance to address that one later, I'll do it now. Once the bond was set, their relationship could go any way it pleased, but the magic surrounding it would still shield it from the Dementors. I totally agree with you about Dumbledore. I feel the same way. He's *dang* lucky Harry's as good as he is. hehehehehe

Colleen: grins so much author's cheeks hurt Thanks! Yes, I'm rather pleased with my little twist myself! kicks toe at rock bashfully Hmmm. Good theories. If all goes well, they should be somewhat answered next chapter! 8-) Cheers!

Sakura Blossom: I'm sorry. Remus only this chapter. Some Sirius next chapter, honest! Glad you liked my Animagus choice. I've won you all over!!!! Bwah hah hah hah… (I think I'm flashing back to my comic reading days here. Bear with me)

Moonlight Yellow: G We'll have to see about that, won't we? I think he's starting to begin to wrap his mind around the concept of how someone *can* go on after experiencing something like that. He's scarred, and abused, but you know what? In a disturbing way, that awful childhood *has* prepared him for taking what little happiness life gives him and eeeking it for all it's worth. Granted, you and I both know it's not enough, and it's obscene that he has to endure this, but if anyone can survive, Harry can, simply because look what's he's already endured up until now. I keep doing it too. It's my mantra: Poor Harry. The epitome of tragedy. Hopefully not a Greek tragedy. Or a Shakespearean one. Nope, I don't think he knows that yet. That one will have to come in time. Maybe Sirius is the one to teach him, as soon as he learns himself. Not yet. Well, I think it's funny you even *have* someone who looks like a Garden Gnome in your class. 

Gypsy Romance: grins evilly Oh, I like that. That works for me! Hehehe… Why thank you very much! Oddly enough, I too kept giggling as I wrote that chapter. It was definitely a lighter one to write… that's kind of sick and wrong, isn't it? Oh well, hehehehe…. Nope, not going there! g I like that analogy! Yeah, I wanted to throw in something utterly original and new for his Animagus…. But I kept coming back. The more research I did, the more the obvious choice was the *right* choice. Thank you *very* much! See, *I* don't think so either. Although Harry definitely has an accelerated timeline as far as to how long he can last there. Oh, yes, I have *quite* a few things in mind left for that. Thank you! giggles happily at your lovely analogy I hope when the tsunami hits, you won't be disappointed! Thanks for the lovely review!

Catie: Yes, I do. lol Thank you very much. I definitely didn't want to come off cliché as far as the Dursleys were concerned. I've kind of pursued this story more internally than most do… It's not as much about the magic, although *yes* that plays an enormous part. It's about an unloved orphan with awful caretakers who was meant for something special, but has *so* much to overcome before he can get there. I'll admit something here that I've really never expressed before. Most people are angry with Dumbledore for leaving Harry with the Dursleys because of the life he lived there. *I* am *just* as angry that, as Harry is destined to be the saviour of the wizarding world, couldn't Dumbledore have had a little more faith in Harry? That if he'd grown up in the wizarding world, he'd still be special? Does that even make sense? It's just that they *knew* the Dursleys were awful. Was the anonymity *really* so essential? Because there are *lots* of other places, and even people who he could have lived with who could have given that kind of anonymity as well. Okay, I'll step off my little soapbox now. blinks at all the glazed looks author is getting ahem Ah, my Pettigrew. rubs palsm together evilly I'm rather proud of him. In fact, I have plans for him… giggles at the 'le sigh' reference Nope, Dumbledore's as human as the next guy, just a lot more powerful. Oh, I really liked that observation. I rather feel the same about this fic. There is a ton of love in it, and tenderness and affection. I see the love that Harry so desperately needs stemming from *this* affection, not romance. Not yet. I heard a saying once that I definitely believe: To love another, you must love yourself first. Now, it can definitely be read wrong, but the intent remains true. If you're sooo messed up that you consider yourself unlovable, how can *any* romantic relationship last? People do things to sabotage themselves all the time, and Harry is *so* fractured, so neglected… He's got a long way to go before he can have a healthy, romantic relationship (nothing against him, and certainly notwithstanding Voldemort's rise *anyway*). I guess I just feel that Harry *needs* family and friends right now (GoF) *far* more than he needs a romance. Besides, romance by its very nature is exclusive. To let someone *that* completely into your life *will* exclude others. I want to give Harry and Sirius a chance to get to know each other first before Harry (or Sirius) goes off and falls for someone. Wow. That was a long rant. *Anyway*, that's why I don't have romance in this story. Thanks for agreeing with me! g lol Hope Rita lived up to your expectations, even though she wasn't first person. That privilege is reserved for Snape. g Thanks for the insightful review. Snape and Harry next chapter. Honest! 

Rowan: Glad I won you over. I felt the same way, trust me. But I simply felt like any other animal *wouldn't* be true to HP. I'm **definitely** glad I listed my reasons at the end though. People felt strongly one way or the other about it. g Thanks for the kind review!

Von: Hmmm…. You're getting warmer…. We'll see as to your second question, though. Wizards live much longer than normal Muggles anyway, but I hadn't thought it through that far. Good question! Good observations, too. Don't know his colors yet because he's bald at the moment. I had to put that in there Like your idea. I'll definitely keep it in mind… Thanks for the review!!! 

Buff200020002002: Yep, I saw Percy as the perfect candidate for doing something he *****felt* was right based on a flaw I perceived about him right away that hadn't been exploited. Self-righteousness is a nasty flaw indeed. It can blind you to all sorts of truths. Ron, I felt after the guilt he felt in Goblet of Fire, *is* a changed friend. He deserted his friend when he needed support the most, and he's bright enough to know it. I suspect this is *his* guilt that's going to be around a while, and rightfully so. It's no fun to realize the emotions you feel are based on jealousy and resentment. You don't come out of self-analysis a winner. I can guarantee that much. I definitely see Ron's pendulum swinging wildly from 'No Support' to 'Stands by friend at any cost'. As for Sirius and Remus… we don't really get a good glimpse of just *who* they are (canon). I know, I know. Sirius is coming soon, honest. I've just had to beat a couple of other subplots into submission first. He's coming. In fact… No, wait, I'll stop right there! Ginny isn't too fleshed out in the books for me, and I'm reluctant to invest too much into her personality until I see if JKR is going to, so I'm keeping her canon. I'm writing this as much for a HP fix as anything. The book has been delayed tooooo looooooong! I'm suffering here!!! Hello!? See, I don't see Harry as a weak character. Ironically enough, I see him too as one with the most room for growth. He's so good, and you can *see* his potential just as clearly as Dumbledore can, and you just want to shake him into seeing himself the way everyone sees him… or adopt him and give him the proper home he deserves. I swear he brings out the Frodo complex in me sometimes. Poor Harry. Man! Anyway, thanks for the review. Enjoy!

MJ: Well, thank you very much for reviewing! I certainly intend to! Boy, do I love Snape as well. I think we all have an Inner Snape just yearning to get down with their snarky selves. I've just had the privilege to exercise mine! You are most welcome, and thanks for the kind words. I take them to heart, and tuck them away as yet one more reason why I really *should* commit to this as an art. (Not that I haven't already. People look at me like I've got three heads when I tell them I try to wake up at 4 a.m. every morning to at least write a little before work.)

Evie: In truth, I was kind of reaching with that, but glad you liked it! 8-) I sort of figured, with Snape being a Potions Master, that he'd be a scholar first. After all, he's highly esteemed in his field. Not a slouch considering all his extracurricular activities…. Or is it *because* of it? Bwah hah hah. I'm not telling on that one. But *something* is going to happen… soon. 

Anonymous: Well, I'm glad you've followed since the beginning. I typically post about once a week, but as the chapters get denser with necessary plot stuff, I've had to slow down a bit and make sure it all flows. I'm trying to stick to the once a week, thing, though! Really! Thanks for the review!

Coconut-ice agent h/h: Bone chilling! I like it!!! Go me! 8-) I know, he's so permanently sick, people are starting to ask me, "You…. You don't intend to kill him after all this, do you?" hehehehe… Well, we'll have to see, but, I'm with you about Harry's physical strength. He's just a scrawny boy. The strength in him is in his spirit, and in his mind and heart. Glad you like it. 

Bobbi: Well, I'm glad you're reviewing more often. I'm a review addict, so post away! Wow. Really glad you liked that scene. I admit, I was worried. 

x-woman: lol I know, I know. I can't make *anything* easy on poor Harry. I'm not sure about that. A little, perhaps. I don't foresee Hagrid playing a big part in this fic, not because I don't adore him, because I do, but because of where most of this story is played out. Here you go! 

Malexandria: Not really. Sirius decided against any *real* vengeance, but don't think what little he did didn't make an impression. Waking up with a renegade wizard battling with himself whether or not to kill you definitely sticks with a man, even one as shallow as Vernon. 

Moonlight: You caught that! Not many did. I know. Poor Harry breaks my heart too. You're going to laugh, but I *swear* I look at little boys differently (fondly rather than, er, with annoyance. Hey, so sue me! I have pets, not kids! Too many years babysitting as a child.) Glad you like the Burning Day twist. Oh, thank you! And thanks for the kind compliments! *This* is why I'm sooo glad I did this (post on the internet). It's been my validation that I'm not the only one who thinks I do a decent job of writing. It makes me feel like a lifelong dream of mine isn't just a crack dream. I very much appreciate it. 

Nicky: Bwah hah hah. Snape next chapter. Honest. 

Katie: I'm so glad you like it, and think the characters are fully fleshed out. Wow. Thank you! Keep in mind, this story is definitely written more for adults than children, so I have that advantage. No, no, no, no, no immediate Snape/Harry bonding (not bondage! Get your heads out of the gutter!g), but you have to admit, it's happening anyway. Snape's not an evil man, he's just not *nice* either. Oh, I know what you're talking about. I agree. Snape is too consistent through the books. He's not going to change. The fact that he's a good guy *is* the change. Yep, I'm very partial to Harry and Sirius (no slash here either) as well. Maybe it's because they've both endured so much, to even see them being able to *spend* time together seems so much more significant. Phoenix happy…. Hehe… Nah, I think there just comes a moment in many people's lives when they pause, look around them, and ask, "Where's the punchline?" Not that Harry is there… but some of the irony was. 

Mara Arwen Black-McGregor: Sometimes it seems that way to me as well! Hehehehe. I'm so glad the Christmas memory was a hit. It was a challenge to dip into pre-Canon timelines and insert something of my own. I wanted it to **not** take away from the integrity of the series, but still flesh it out a bit. I have a whole scenario regarding his birthday, too. Don't know if I'll have a chance to use it. Yes, Harry was a bit more cheerful here, wasn't he? grins madly to making you cry High praise indeed. I had fun with that phoenix plot twist myself. It was pretty visual writing it, trust me. I *totally* picture Snape as the ultimate aristocrat. He can blend seamlessly with Lucius and his ilk, yet he disdains his own heritage even as it shrouds him in it. 4 cats, one sorely outnumbered pooch, and a fiancé that smiles in bewildered indulgence at my Potter obsession.

Aussie Chick: Well, hello there lurker! Thanks for dropping a line!

Demonic angel: hehehehe… I'm glad you like it!

Kateydidnt: Good questions. Clever! Yes, I haven't mentioned anything about that, have I? Hmmm. We'll see. Next chapter! Glad you decided to stay. Hmm. Another good question. You'll see.

Evilkarky: Ooooh, recommendations! I like those! 8-) Thank you very much! 

Lothey: Get **down** with your bad self!!! 

Green Eyed Knight: Oh, I'm glad you liked that one. I was rather proud of it myself. 8-) giggles at your comment Nope, nothing badly taken here. Normal is *boring*, normal is *bland*… Ironically, writing is my catharsis. Believe it or not, in person, for the most part, I'm quite cheerful. That my chosen writing form is soooooooo dark is… enlightening to people once they get to know me. Probably best not to take away my ability to write, don't you think? grins evilly as people slowly back away Thank you, though, very much! G


	30. Delivery

Disclaimer:  Hello?  Anyone here still *really* think I don't yet know HP isn't mine?  Doggone it.

**Chapter 30**

I've never been here before, I realize as I Apparate into a small churchyard and travel towards my destination.  Intuitively I *know* where I'm being called to go, and I suppress my annoyance that the indicator should be gauged by the amount of pain the Mark sears into my arm.  The closer I get the more painful it becomes.  Such lovely touches Voldemort thinks of.  Amazing this life *ever* appealed to me.  As I pass through the overgrown graveyard, I see Muggle cars parked along a street, and cozy little cottages lit from within merrily behind drawn curtains in the evening drizzle.  *Not* the sort of place I expect *him*.  I press hard against the Mark, the act at least reassuring although in reality it does nothing to ease the pain.  The weather, although typical, has forced everyone indoors for which I'm thankful.  It's never fun to try to be inconspicuous in robes amidst Muggle jeans and raincoats, umbrellas and galoshes.  

I see my final destination, and find *it* is not so surprising.  It's some sort of large house, more like a manor, dilapidated, with broken windows and doors boarded over.  I can see that its garden has overgrown to such a degree in the twilight that much of the actual detail of the home itself is hidden behind ivy and weeds.  Ironically, it's nearly the classic definition of what Muggles like to refer to as a haunted house.  The thought of foolish teenagers daring each other to spend the night inside when my Mark tells me what is already there sends chills through my veins.  _Let the weather keep fools and romantics away at least until he's left, I pray.  _

My heart beats in my throat, as it always does when I've been summoned.  I know it's wrong to feel so alive when I know I stride so close to death, but it happens nonetheless.  The air smells fresh, the overgrown garden I'm travelling through makes my fingers itch to pluck through, searching for herbs and other useful ingredients for my potions.  Old overgrown gardens like this are ripe for heirloom seeds, soon to be lost or forgotten, replaced by Muggle Technicolor fruits and vegetables, the precious herbs perceived as weeds to be yanked out and replaced by monstrous rose gardens.  I shiver at the thought.  _Gack.    My footsteps echo loudly in my ears, wet yet crisp.  The charms I've placed on my robes keep me warm and dry, merely a spectator of the weather rather than its victim.  _

When I first took up the role of spy, I found an interesting correlation between my life path's choice and a Muggle game.  At first, due to its reference, I thought it had real historical origins.  Russian roulette is the game.  With a Muggle gun, put one bullet in the chamber and spin it.  Put the gun to your head and pull the trigger.  If the odds work for you, you live.  But there's always *that* chance.  I had to look into it, to find out more.  What kind of people would play a game like this?  Why?  In truth, I was mildly disappointed.  There *is* no hard proof as to this game's origins, although evidently it's still played today.  The closest I could come was a book written in the 1930s describing Russian roulette, only played with five bullets in the chamber and one empty slot, not one bullet and five empty slots.  Different game altogether, isn't it?  It's more of a dance with suicide than chance.  The more I've thought about it, the more I've realized I'm playing the second version of the game.  I've got one shot at life, at least one I find acceptable to *live* with.  

I don't pretend to expect to live through this.  I'm not naïve.  I'm not going to live to a ripe old age, have little rugrats to care for, and bouncy grandchildren to tell my life story to.  _Heh__.__  That'd teach them.  I'm not going to die in my sleep, or of natural causes.  And when I die, there will be *very* few people to mourn my passing.  __As in… maybe one or two.  I'm going to die painfully, and young.  __Although I certainly *feel* old.  I'm going to die alone, in agony, with my dignity stripped away by an Unforgivable Curse… and not regret a moment.  _

Because the path I chose before this was no path at all.  Muggles have an idea of Heaven and Hell that I find amusing, for the most part.  But parts of it ring true to me.  There are some people in this world that are truly evil.  Some places naturally corrupt.  I've met evil, allied myself with it.  And finally seen it as it truly is.  Flashier, simpler, easier, but *not* better.  As I step around the pried open boarded door and into the musty, rotten manor, I know I have entered such a place.  Evil lives here, manifests here.  And I wonder, not for the first time, and hopefully not the last, if this is it.  _Will this be the last place I see before I die?  _

_Lovely.__  I'm as melancholic as the weather.  Sighing, I take several slow steps inside until I'm confident that no one has followed.  I cast a light spell and look around as it appears with a faint crackling sound, holding the handful of shimmering light in one hand as I carry my wand in the other.  Shadows are appropriate in this place.  I've stepped into an enormous entryway, with dusty marble floors and ornately carved wooden columns that rise to the ceiling in a half circle, showcasing the spider web shrouded crystal chandelier that still manages to reflect hundreds of tiny rainbows throughout the room.  The cheerful spectral arcs of color seems so completely out of place in this dank relic of a home, as if the tiny rainbows are little raspberries being blown into the face of hate itself.  I struggle not to smile, and realize Dumbledore must *really* be rubbing off on me to find this all so amusing.  _

"At peace with your Maker, Potions Master?" a voice hisses behind me, and instantly I feel the nub of a wand point digging into my neck.  Only one man has ever been capable of sneaking up on me like this.  A man I loathe and pity and hate for what he's become... for what I made of him. His Animagus form makes him remarkably silent, and this is not the first time he's snuck up on me completely unawares.  That he's the *only one* gives me no comfort.  

"How about yours, Pettigrew?  Any happy faces waiting to greet you on the other side?" I reply, my voice calm and biting.  It's odd how I've always responded to stress.  The worse my circumstances become, the more in control I am.  _Is this why I've succeeded as long as I have as a spy?  Better nix that thought before I jinx myself.  At the moment, though, he's showing more aggression towards me than he *ever* has before, which doesn't bode well.  _

"You're just as bad as I am.  Don't look down that beaky nose at me, _Professor, for I know you're just as much a product of *him* as I am.  Only at least I didn't willingly seek this life out," he said.  __Ouch.  That much is certainly true.  _

"Killed any children lately?  Cedric was quite the menacing threat, wasn't he?" I ask, and let my hatred slip through.  My disgust at the pointless death of Diggory helped renew my own hunger for Voldemort's defeat.  _So much death.  Fingers curl through my hair and pull my head back, exposing my neck.  Pettigrew's wand tip caresses my throat for a moment menacingly, from the tip of my chin, off the slope of my Adam's Apple, down to the top of my clavicle.  He presses it in, and I can feel the wand bend with the tension even as it bruises my skin. I fight the urge to swallow.  _

"He shouldn't have been there.  It's not my fault he was," Pettigrew replies, and I can sense his shrug.  _Quite nonchalant.  I frown.  __He's acting awfully self-possessed.  Much more so than I've *ever* seen him behave before.  It's keeping me off balance, and I'm finding it difficult to piece together my next actions. Either way, it appears my time is up.  For Pettigrew does nothing of his own accord, and never has.  He is not decisive, by any stretch, but his eyes are ever watchful, and sometimes I find myself wondering what goes on in that mind of his.  I've called Pettigrew many things in this lifetime and the last, but never dumb.  __Never._

"So brave…  Gryffindor through and through," I mock, the ridicule a reminder of what he *should* have been, who he failed, all he betrayed.

He pulls me nearly off balance by the back of my robe, making it difficult to breathe or swallow.  Chills zing up and down my spine and I struggle for my composure not to slip at the strange sensations that jolt through me.  _It's that hand of his.  That's what he's got at the base of my skull. _

"He's going to Azkaban once he's done with you, traitor.  The emissary has already been favorably received.  He's coming for the boy," he says, his voice oddly hollow.  Traitor.  _They know.  __How?  Pettigrew, of course.  I feel resignation surround me like a shroud.  __Yes, today's the day.  I'm much more deadly in combat than Pettigrew, but with his wand at my throat and his strange magical hand entangled in the hood of my robe… things aren't going well so far.  Instead I try another tack._

"You were free, once.  Why did you come back?" I ask, and I feel him pause at the genuine curiosity in my voice.  I hate this man, but know I made him once.  The guilt I carry for the blows I've dealt, I face nightly.  I see his sweaty, broken face, the blood vessels nearly bursting through the skin on his eyelids, around his temple, at his jugular.  The reddish, purple coloring of his flesh, of the pain he endured.  Telltale signs of my *skills*.  But for all that I've done to him, what he's chosen to remain is entirely upon him.  Given all he's sacrificed and the ridicule he endures even amongst the other Death Eaters, it's never been clear why he returned at all, not when *everyone* thought him dead.  

"He'll never rest.  He'll never stop.  He'll never give up, until I'm dead," Pettigrew whispers in my ear, and I shiver at the raw terror in his voice.  Not Voldemort.  Sirius Black.  _A coward dies a thousand deaths, a hero dies but once, the quote echoes in my mind.  I can't remember who said that.  __How many times have you died, Peter?  As much as I despise the man, I suspect I'm much better at giving pain than Black could ever be.  Ironic that who Pettigrew ran *to* is far worse than Black could ever hope to be._

"That afraid of death?" I ask scornfully.  Sometimes, I've rather thought death would be a blessing, a relief to finally be done, for my burdens to be taken upon other shoulders.  There *is* such a thing as above and beyond the call of duty.

"That afraid of him.  Death…  I've *been* dead, or haven't you noticed?  This is my punishment," Pettigrew says and disentangles his hand from my robe to wave it in front of my face.  Its Dark Magic hums with power.  _How much stronger a wizard is he now that he carries Voldemort's gift? I wonder.  It glows faintly in the dim illumination, shimmering in an almost hypnotic way, leaving a ghostly shadow of its form like a comet trail in the night.  _

"Poor misunderstood Peter, look what's become of him," I taunt, unsure why I'm doing so.  Maybe it's my rage at his weakness.  My head snaps back again, his icy cold hand once again entwined in my hair, and he's pulled me close to the point where his warm, rancid breath caresses the side of my face.  

"Survive the night, Potions Master, and we all might have a chance.  If I'm right…" he says, and stops as brisk footsteps echo through a hallway to my left.  _What on Earth was *that* about?  What little I can see of this home is that it is enormous, with doorways leading off into numerous different directions.  Out of the darkness, Lucius Malfoy steps.  He doesn't even bother with light charms, traveling easily in the darkness.  As he enters my small ring of light, his gray eyes gleam eerily, reflecting red like an animal at night caught in a stray beam of firelight.  _

"Severus," he says, his voice smooth, soothing… disappointed.  Yes, definitely my cue to go.  

"Lucius," I reply and feel my heart plummet into my stomach as my wand slips from my fingers.  Pettigrew steps away from me, his wand now aimed at my back, and slips my wand into his robe pocket, patting it as if to validate its security there.  My illumination flickers and dies, leaving us in total darkness for a moment.  I listen to Peter's uneven breathing and the faint rustle of Lucius' robes as he stands beside me.  _Now?__  Should I make a move now?  No, Pettigrew alone I could have taken.  Not Lucius and him both… not wandless._

"Why?" Lucius asks simply as Pettigrew pushes me forward, propelling me towards the hallway Lucius came from.  Until I hear Voldemort himself saying I am a traitor, it could still be a ploy, a trick to force me to reveal myself.  

"Why what?" I reply, and torches begin to light up magically as we proceed further into the bowels of the decrepit home, no more windows in evidence for easy escape.  Lucius shakes his head.  "Never mind, Severus.  Our relationship was never forthright.  I suppose I'll have my answer soon enough," he says in disappointment.  We are all silent as I follow Lucius, and I quickly analyze my options.  Lucius is deadly in combat.  Right now, escape isn't a likely possibility, so I settle instead in waiting for an opportunity to present itself.  I realize that if indeed tonight's the night they kill me, I will need to sever the link with Potter, or he'll die with me.  _Merlin, don't let him be there when they do.  I pause at that last thought.  __When?  That's not good, Severus.  __*If*, not *when*.  _

I catch glimpse of a portrait painting, faded with time and age.  Its subjects are seated primly at either side of a young child, his face solemn and bitter.  This painting finally answers the question of *where* I am.  The Riddle House.  For whomever is in that painting is clearly related to Voldemort.  _No wonder thieves didn't take it.__  I wouldn't either.  I'm glad *I* appreciate my humor, even if no one else does.  Of course, the occasional untimely snort isn't usually a good idea amongst Death Eaters, so I refrain._

The home itself is impressive even in its current state.  Graffiti occasionally is painted across the walls in the rooms with vaulted ceilings.  Silly nicknames and messages that hold no meaning for me are written, messages left from teenagers in rebellion against their own hormones.  The hallway is strewn with light squares of wall space much brighter than the rest of its surrounding paint.  It's where paintings once hung, and I suspect most of the truly valuable things have been gutted and looted already from this home.  Only the family portraits, plus a couple of surprisingly ugly, discolored canvases trying to pass themselves off as landscape and scenic panoramas remain.  _Discerning vandals.__  How appropriate for this place.  I'm surprised the crystal chandeliers are intact. Perhaps no one but me has bothered to look up.  Rich wooden paneling and ornate rosettes on the walls, coffered ceilings in the smaller rooms I pass through, and masses of books remain.  __If *I* were looting this place, the books would have gone first.  In its time, this home must have been splendid indeed for a Muggle home.  No illusion spells, just simple, extravagant opulence. We begin to head down spiraling stair cases that I suspect were for the staff as opposed to the family members.  _

_Why indeed? Lucius' question echoes in the stillness of the home. __Why did I become a spy?  There are so many reasons, but one lesson in particular still stands out in my mind.  It's when I got what I wished for.  An education.  _

When I first met him, all I could see was Voldemort's brilliance, charisma, charm, and his biting wit.  He was more of a natural leader then, when he couldn't rest on his laurels and rule through fear.  He played on our strengths, preyed on our weaknesses.  It was magnificent to watch.  He's still the best I've ever seen at Dark Magic, his natural aptitude nearly limitless.  But back then he had a hunger for *knowledge* that only perhaps Lupin and Granger could rival.  *That* is what he promised me.  At Hogwarts, knowledge was restricted to a privileged few, the favored.  I would never be one of those.  But to *him*, I was a prize.  Wanted.  And, oh, how eager he was to teach!

Looking back, I think he was always insane, he just kept it in tighter rein.  It would slip out every now and again, but the snarling menace that haunts Potter's dreams didn't start that way.  My realization of his madness started with a gift.  For me.  I'd found a tome of potions dating back centuries, one which I eagerly studied.  Its incantations were dark and haunting, and the complex potions filled my imagination with their complexity.  This book was brilliant.  Its subtle blend of magic and herb and forbidden nuances.  I've always loved potions, but these…  These were magnificent.  Complex, challenging.  Only a Master could create them, contain them.  Of course, I'd never intended to use them.   It's amazing what a man can delude himself with when forced to.  What lengths he'll go to lie to himself, to justify and rationalize his desires.  

It was a seduction.  I see that now.  The potions Voldemort gave me to learn, to study, were increasingly sinister, increasingly powerful and thick with Dark Magic.  I saw his hunger for my creations, and gladly immersed myself in making them.  I look back and see now that I always knew what the others were doing.  That enemies of Voldemort were being systematically killed, even back then.  That Muggles were cattle to be tortured and murdered for sport.  But I deluded myself with the notion that for me, it was purely academia.  If I did not partake, then I was safe.  Then I didn't have to worry about right and wrong, foolish notions used only to teach children.  This was *art*, and who was I to stop its creation?  

He was a homeless Muggle, reeking of booze and filth.  He looked much older than I suspect he actually was.  His face was lined with wrinkles and liver spots, and his nose and cheeks was rosy and littered with broken blood vessels.  A chronic drinker then.  When the Muggle obediently followed Voldemort into my chambers, I couldn't comprehend why he would be there.  

"I have a gift for you, my boy," Voldemort said and proceeded to transfigure a chair into a metal table with straps.  The man was oddly still, and I realized Voldemort controlled him with the Imperius Curse as the Muggle obediently stepped up onto the table and allowed the straps to bind around him.  "You asked me to teach you, Severus.  It's time for a lesson," he said and stepped behind me.  I felt a strange floating sensation distance my mind from what I *wanted* to do.  It was so much easier to listen to the voice inside my head.  I still held the flask of potion I'd just created in my hand.  Yes, good idea.  I walked over to the Muggle, who was now wide eyed with terror, no longer under the curse.  His eyes struck me as so… human.  It's easy to hate someone from afar, but this Muggle *was* someone.  He had a name, and a childhood, and he just stumbled into a nightmare his mind probably never even dreamed of.  He whimpered as I magically forced his mouth open, and in numb shock, I watched as I tipped the dark potion down the man's throat.  Abruptly, I was back in control once again.  I still don't know if fighting the Imperius Curse would have assuaged my guilt any, but even now I remember how easily I gave up control to *him*, allowed him to make my decisions for me.  

"I haven't created the antidote for this yet," I say.  He chuckles.  

"Dark magic potions are about sin and death, Severus.  Haven't you wondered what it would be like to actually see one in action?  To see something you created, you gave birth to, come to fruition?" he asks.  I had.  "You've created something few people in the world can make.  You've read what it's supposed to do.  Don't you want know for sure if the book is accurate?" he asks.  To my shame, I did.  I would never have said it aloud, but the more Dark Magic I imbued into my potions, the more I hungered to see them at work.  It was an itch inside of me, in my gut. 

The Muggle's eyes flit from Voldemort to myself as we have this conversation.  He understands what we're saying, but I suspect he thinks this is a nightmare, and that he's going to wake up at any moment.  His breath reeks of cheap wine and cigarettes, and his clothes are filthy.  His beard still contains food from his previous meal, and his hands and fingernails are black with grime.  I think he's still slightly drunk, and I cannot help the urge to keep my distance from him, as if his hard luck is catching.  

"I'll be back in an hour's time, Severus.  Have fun," he says and leaves me with this man.  My first victim.  When his convulsions begin, I feel terror and unreality wash over me.  The first thing I can think of is that there still might be time.  I might be able to make the antidote, if....  The next hour flies past, and I occasionally glance over at the man who is now begging and screaming incoherently in my chambers, his words no longer understandable.  I succeed in creating the antidote, a feat in and of itself.  I've rushed a potion for the first time in my life.  I've forced the magical forces to bind faster than they were meant to, and I believe I've succeeded.  I approach the man for only the second time.  He is on the threshold.  I almost didn't make it.  As I'm about to administer the antidote, a hand wraps around my wrist and pulls it away from the man's face.  I struggle against him.  

"See, Severus?  So close to the edge…  Look at his eyes," Voldemort whispers reverently.  As I watch, I can see sanity begin to drain from his expression.  It is too much.  I struggle harder.  It's nearly too late to save his sanity, but it's not too late to save his life.  "Why are you fighting this, Severus?  Look.  Look at his face.  Look at the madness.  Isn't it beautiful?" he says.  I shake my head.  The man is drooling, his lips open in a scream, but sound no longer escapes his throat.  Occasional nonsensical words escape him.  His eyes roll around, focusing on nothing. He thrashes his head about, heedless of the damage he's causing to himself, straining against the straps.  There is no longer any room in his mind for anything but the pain my potion has inflicted.

"Let me go.  I've made the antidote, and I have to see if it works," I beg.  I'm trying anything to appeal to his sensibilities, to make him let me save this Muggle's life.  

"You were always so talented, Severus.  Clever, how you forced that antidote to fuse prematurely.  Do you think it'll work?  Even rushed like it was?" he asks me.  I nod my head eagerly as the gibbering man before begins to breathe erratically.  His body can no longer contain the poison.  It's eating its way out from the inside.  

"Yes," I say, a plea.  He chuckles as the Muggle ceases to breathe for a moment.  

"Why, Severus?  It's already too late," he says, and quirks his head to the side like a puzzled puppy.  It's unnerving.  

"Let me try," I beg again.  He laughs merrily and plucks the antidote out of my hand entirely.  He places the flask to the side of the Muggle's face but does not tip it.   

"*This* is his life, Severus.  Your potion is Death stoppered.  It's magnificent.  Life and death," he says, tilting his head towards the Muggle for a moment, then leaning away and waving the flask dramatically.  Abruptly he sets aside the antidote aside and grabs my hand.  He presses it against the Muggle's neck and I feel the faint pulse fading.  The man's breathing isn't normal anymore at all.  Instead it's jerky and unnatural.  As I watch, the Muggle goes unnaturally still, and I realize he's died.  He has blue eyes, I note absently.  They're looking right at me.

"I think the antidote would have worked," I say ridiculously.  I feel numb, and stunned, and sick inside.  The Dark Mark, before a mark of pride, of rebellion, now burns.  It's mocking my decisions, my choices.  I don't know what else to say to this man I've sworn allegiance to.  

"Why do you persist in turning a blind eye to this last step?  If you don't use your creations, you're not a Potions Master, you're a fraud.  Death is an art as much as life.  If you are unwilling to learn it, your commitment to knowledge is a lie.  Life and healing are only one half of the equation, pain and death the other.  When you first were about to give this Muggle the antidote, did you really think he could just be Obliviated and returned to his old life?  Pathetic as it was, of course," Voldemort asks, and awaits my answer.  Refusing to vomit, I try to say something intelligible.  

"Yes, I did," I reply.  He shakes his head fondly, as if amused by my naïveté.  

"The Dark Arts are fascinating.  They give us tiny glimpses into a world no one is willing to admit exists.  It's the realm of the unconscious, the unspoken.  It's where pain cannot be completely forgotten… ever.   Unless you'd administered that antidote only ten minutes into its intake, you wouldn't have saved this Muggle's life.  Not in the long run.  Within several months time, he'd have committed suicide anyway.  See, Severus?  There's so much left for you to learn," he says and pats my shoulder affectionately.  Some moments are so vivid, the shame so tangible, that I'd give anything to be able to Memory Charm myself.  

"I've given you a toy, Severus, and you've broken it.  I'm so proud of you," he says, and I realize he means it.  His voice brims with emotion.  He pats my back one last time and leaves.  As I face the lifeless Muggle, I realize I have just killed a man.  My first.  

Lucius opens a door at the end of the hall, seemingly the most inaccessible room in the entire home.  Pulled out of my reverie, I realize I'm finally at my destination.  My Dark Mark sings.  Voldemort is on the other side of that door.  Pettigrew pushes me forward, and I enter.  The room is filled with Death Eaters.  Probably fifteen in all.  Only the most loyal.  Their masked faces turn to look at me as one.  _Yes, I'm cooked.  _

"My prodigal son," Voldemort says fondly, his red eyes expressionless.  He's sitting in a high back chair that looks awfully similar to a throne by a fireplace, the only lighting in the room.  

"Master," I reply and kneel painfully, my knees protesting as they press against the cold stone floor.  I feel Pettigrew's foot on my back and he pushes me forward, sprawling headfirst into the center of the room.  Wandless and surrounded by Death Eaters.  _Lovely.  _

"Did you know Wormtail is quite a storyteller?" Voldemort asks from his seat, his face animated.  I say nothing.  "It's quite fascinating, the things he comes up with.  Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, has these dreams, you see…  He dreams of when I kill people.  Have you heard this story, Severus?" Voldemort asks, and I swear he looks like a cat playing with his meal before he kills it.  I remain silent.  "I questioned their authenticity, of course.  What a silly plot line.  Where would it go?  And it featured you, my boy, playing the role of traitor.  But you and I have gone round this before, haven't we?  We know where we stand," Voldemort says.  Even with all those men in the room, I could have heard a pin drop.  It was only Voldemort and myself.  

"Master," I say again, but am unsure how to proceed.  I don't.  

"I punished Wormtail for his impertinence.  This is my Potions Master we're talking about.  If *he* were in contact with the boy, surely I would have known by now.  I damaged my favorite pet because of you, Severus.  Only when Wormtail insisted on using a Pensieve did I realize I was trusting the wrong man," Voldemort says, then smiles again.  "Lie to me once, shame on you.  Lie to me twice… shame on me," Voldemort says, and holds his wand out.  "Crucio," he says forcefully, and I know nothing more as my reality narrows down to second by second moments of pain.  How long?  A minute?  An hour?  It could be a lifetime.  My body feels like it is losing its form, twisting on itself.  Abruptly, it stops.  My face is pressed against the stone floor, and I can't seem to catch my breath.  I seem to have lost muscle control for a moment, for all I can do is quiver uselessly.  

"Professor!" a voice says right next to me.  I jerk in surprise, but no one seems to notice.  Lucius is currently talking to Voldemort in hushed tones, and the Death Eaters are talking amongst themselves until the show begins again.  I force my eyes to turn to the side, and I see Potter lying next to me.  He looks bad.  His nose is bleeding and there is bruising on the side of his face.  

"Where did you get that?" I whisper.  Potter shrugs.  

"Convulsions, I think," he replies.  "Where are you?  I couldn't reach you.  I tried, I swear I did, but I couldn't.  Voldemort is going to kill you.  You have to get out of there," Potter says, and I suppress snorting at the obvious.  

"Good idea, Potter.  Smashing.  How do you propose I do so?" I ask him.  It strikes me as odd to find myself so ridiculously relieved to see Potter here.  He frowns as he weakly tries to push himself up on his hands and knees.  

"The spell.  Can I hold your soul for a while?  Until he's done torturing you?" Potter asks, his voice raspy.  How does the boy keep going?  

"What do you think he'll do when he's done?  Leave me alive?" I ask.  Potter frowns and bites his lower lip absently.  He's trembling all over, and he looks so thin now.  Emaciated.  Not that he was ever normal weight to begin with.  

"So I protect you until he kills you, then I help you remanifest in your own body.  It could work, couldn't it?" he asks.  I shake my head faintly.  Good.  A little muscle control is coming back to me now.  

"Potter, when he kills me, you die too unless we end the spell holding us together," I tell him.  His eyes are such a bright green now that it gives me chills.  Or perhaps it's the torture.  It could be either, really.  Potter is transparent, as I can see the door, my escape, *through* him.  

"You need me to do that, too, don't you?" he asks me.  Relieved that he understands, I nod.  

"All we have to do is say 'Finite Incantatem' at the exact same moment, and it's done.  We don't even need a wand," I tell him.  He smiles genuinely.  It's a rather strange response.  

"Good.  Because I'm not letting you die that easily.  Forget it, Professor.  We're in this together," he says determinedly.  I am stunned.  _What?  What just happened here?  _

"Potter, I'm about to die.  As you're bound to me with Albus' spell, you're going to die  as well," I say in a hissed whisper.  If anyone has noticed me talking to myself, I cannot tell.  

"So I can't help you with the bond thing we've got, then?" Potter asks thoughtfully.  

"As you so articulately put it, that *bond* thing is of no use here," I reply, angry.  _Why, for once, doesn't someone, anyone, but most *especially* him, do what I ask?  Is this so hard?  _

"Hmmm.  Magic...  Magic...  I never did try magic in my dreams like you suggested.  I didn't get a chance," Potter says regretfully, and looks at his empty hands.  He's now sitting on the ground and frowns as he bites the side of his cheek.  "Hmmm.  Accio Wand!" he says and looks around hopefully.  Nothing happens.  

"Your wand is being held by Fudge.  I doubt if it's even in Azkaban," I say weakly.  

"Then how am I supposed to *do* magic at all?" Potter asks me.  I roll my eyes.  

"Haven't you ever done magic without a wand?" I ask him incredulously.  I nearly snort at the look of bemusement that crosses his face.  "I take that as a yes," I say.  Even as a specter, he's blushing.  It's bizarre to see, trust me.  

"Yes," he agrees.  "Okay, so it's possible.  Is it just like using a wand?" Potter asks.  How can I teach wandless magic in less than five minutes?  _I need ten at the very least, I think ironically.  At least my humor is still intact.  _

"The wand is a conduit, a way to focus magical transmissions.  Your body does it naturally, especially as a child, but as you grow older and more powerful, you need insulation against the magic.  It grows as you do, and its power can burn you inside out if you don't protect yourself," I say.  

"Okay.  Too late to insulate myself," Potter says, completely undaunted, and holds his hand forward, deciding using it as a focal point might work.  

"Potter, did you hear me?" I ask and watch in horror as Lucius steps away from Voldemort.  The torture is about to begin again.  The room silences once more.  

"There's nothing to be done about it, Professor.  I'll keep the spells simple.  Just remember to *run* when I do it, okay?" Potter asks me.  

"Severus…  Where were we?  Ah.  Crucio," Voldemort says absently again, and I can hear Potter beside me as I convulse against the stone floor, reality turning away once again.  Even as awareness of everything but the pain fades, I find myself perversely reassured that Potter is beside me.  That I'm not alone.  It's not fun to learn these things about oneself so late in the game.  I thought I was at peace with this kind of death, but evidently I'm not.  I'm more fond of life than I anticipated.

"Expelliarmus!" Potter's shout breaks through the pain, and a wave of power blasts through me for a second.  Abruptly, the room is still.  I raise my head weakly and see the room scattered with the crumbled forms of Death Eaters.  They moan, and wands are littered across the stone floor.  I look at Potter.  He's lying on his side, panting heavily.  Blood now pours from his mouth.  

_Fascinating.  I've never seen this sort of reaction to a first go at wandless magic.  Of course, for it to even *be* tried, normally the student must train for years.  The perimeter affect is normal, though.  Without the wand as a focus, the spell is dispersed three hundred sixty degrees.  Until the caster learns control, of course.  To compensate for the lack of focus.  What surprises me is the strength of the spell.  Magic without a wand is measured in three things:  ability, innate talent, and will.  I suspect it's Potters' will that has made his spell as strong as it has.  As if his Patronus and the ability to throw off the Imperius Curse isn't testament enough, I'm reminded once again of the hope Albus has placed in him.  If I had enough energy to articulate, I'd give tips and encouragement.  And critique, of course.  __Oh, who am I kidding?  I'd critique.  But instead I can barely find my voice._

"Potter," I say.  He wheezes for a moment, his eyes looking around the room.  

"I've only got a few seconds left before I'm released from this dream, Professor.  Go!" he says.  Weakly, I climb to my feet.  "Stupefy!" he mutters, and the moaning around the room ceases.  Even Voldemort is on the floor, his chair on its side.  He's unconscious for the moment, but I have no idea how long it will last.  I can still feel the Apparition wards in place, although they're wavering at the moment.  I look back to the place where Potter was, but he's gone now.  

His magic blasted everyone in the room except me.  _Remarkable.  I've been converted.  Hope has been for me a useless indulgence I've never bothered with.  I chose my life, and come what may I'll face what it brings me.  But for the first time in my life, something flutters in my heart.  Something obscenely… optimistic.  __Great Merlin.  The specter of a boy near death, whose body resides in a cell in the most feared wizarding prison on Earth, has just knocked unconscious Voldemort himself and his group of Death Eaters.  Don't tell me that after all this time, Dumbledore was right about the boy?  _

I approach Pettigrew cautiously.  He is perfectly still, his breath even. I reach out my hand weakly to reach into his robes for my wand.  His hand grabs my wrist abruptly.  Startled, I'm too weak to pull from his grasp.  His eyes open and he smiles brilliantly at me.  

"I was right," he says to me.  I look around.  Is anyone else waking up?  Why isn't Voldemort already conscious, if Pettigrew is?  He sees my puzzled expression and raises an eyebrow.  "I raised a few shields, just in case.  No one else expected this.  Relax.  You've got another half hour or so, and by then the Apparition wards will be fully down.  They'll know better than to even try to find you.  They're going to Azkaban anyway," he says to me.  I stare in shock as my wand slips into my palm.  He's given it to me.  _Am I conscious?  Maybe this is a dream, because this most certainly would never happen in real life.  _

"What?" I ask stupidly.  Not one of my finer questions.  Usually, I'm more articulate after a bought of Crucio, but I suspect I was held under longer than I have been in many years.  

"Does Harry know the nature of Dark Magic?" Pettigrew asks me as I still stare at my wand.  "Have they been taught that yet?  I can't remember what year they taught us," he says absently, and I force my focus back onto him.  What is he blathering on about?  I concentrate on the question, more difficult than it should be.  

"No," I say after a moment.  

"Then *you* must teach him," Pettigrew says urgently, looking deep into my eyes, trying to impress… something into me.  I'm too tired to know what.  Pettigrew releases my wrist and says passionately, "You must make him understand, Severus.  That's the price for your freedom."  _I can live with that.  I nod.  He lets go and looks at me expectantly.  __Right._

"Stupefy," I say, and he smiles again as the spell hits him.  I turn for the door and stumble out.  I memorized the way in, so reverse my steps accordingly.  After a ridiculously large amount of stairs, I finally breathe in a deep breath of fresh air.  _I'm free.  I'm alive.  And bloody hell if, despite it all, I'm not feeling bloody *cheerful* as well.  Perhaps I've been driven insane and don't realize it.  I can't walk properly, and stumble about like a drunk.  My limbs still scream with pain and fatigue, and all I think is, __I'm free.  __They know I'm a spy.  I never have to go back to that life.  I never have to pretend again.  Come what may, my life as a Death Eater is over, and I have to suppress the urge to whistle a jaunty tune.  I owe a Wizard's Debt to Potter and Pettigrew.  Can life get any more surreal?  Now to save Potter's life in return...  __Again.  _

_Don't you bloody die on me, Potter.  __You won't be there for much longer, I promise, and am amazed at the emotion I invest in the thought of freeing him.  I decide not to pursue that line of thought much further.  Too much emotion in one day gives me heartburn.  Socrates says the unexamined life is not worth living.  A poem begins to run through my mind, one I learned many years ago, and seems oddly appropriate.  At this moment, I hold to the dream that I'll have enough energy to warn Dumbledore about Azkaban.  That he'll rescue Potter in time, and maybe… just maybe… we can win this war._

Yet ah, why should they know their fate  
Since sorrow never comes too late  
And happiness too quickly flies.

Thought would destroy their paradise.  
Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise.

**TBC…**

Author's Notes:  First and foremost, credit for the above poem goes to Gray's "Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College".  Secondly…  I apologize profusely for the delay in posting.  I'm moving this weekend, and all that this entails.  I've been ridiculously busy, and so have been pushed back.  I've certainly not forgotten the fic, have no fear.  Hopefully, November will prove smoother sailing.  Also, to those of you whom I promised much Sirius…  mea culpa!  This chapter went on long enough, and as I've delayed this one in particular already…  I just thought you'd at least prefer a post.  Sirius starts the next chapter.  Honest.  Thanks for all your patience with this.  I certainly didn't intend to leave you hanging.  

And now…  a word for my kind reviewers…

Kaydee:  I'm glad you liked the Animagus form.  

Kathleen:  Ummm…  Wow.  It's a multi POV story…  Sorry, but I'm trying to keep all the balls in the air (juggling metaphor).  Hope you're feeling better now…

LaminaCourt, linds, Sakura Le (no, you don't suck at it g),  WeasleyTwinsLover1112 (lol), SilverMoon, Meep (how was that?), Lisette (me, too!), Phoenix (I understand!), bramblerose (I'm glad you liked it!), AllAboutMe (g), brinn (glad I surprised you!  Thanks!), Stickmarionette (Thank you very much.  I'm glad it rings true for you.  That's what I'm working for!), Anonymous, LittleEar BibEar's sis G, Anti Pasta (Thank you!), Fleur (g), kapies, EaRtHaNgEl831 (No worries), sk8reagle, SpiderGirl05 g, Bobbi (hm.  Good question.  I'll address it next chapter!  g), coconut-ice agent h/h (NO!  Really, it is SO not!  Hehehehehe, thanks….  Bwah hah hah hah), chochang1234 (sold my condo, am moving, and tons more…  Haven't forgotten this!  Promise!), rowan, japangirlcarley24 (I missed you!  Welcome back!), Gypsy Malfoy (NO…  No slash here.  Definitely not appropriate for this fic. No worries there), candledot (G  Thank you very much!!!), curlylox (hmm.  No, I don't think he's immortal.  You'll see, though, I hope… g), Moondancer (Thanks!):  Thank you all so much for your kind reviews!  No slash here.  Really!  Sorry I left you hanging in the previous chapter about Snape and Harry, but hopefully this has helped.  As for Sirius:  Next chapter!  Honest!  

Sarahpeach:  I do too.  That's why I wanted to write one.  I think there's something about actually permanently extricating Harry out of that awful environment that I really wanted to do!  You'll see…  Nope, Snape's the only 1st person POV.  

Michelle:  good question.  I'll address it, probably in the next chapter.  I like the idea.  Don't know if I'll get that opportunity, though.  Sorry!  

JustMe:  lol  Yes, it is a true Angst story, isn't it?  8-)

Gypsy Romance: Ironic, isn't it?  g  Sorry about no Sirius.  After 9 pages of Snape, I realized I'd better just quit while I was ahead.  I'm so glad you like them.  I adore them as well.  Yeah, there are just not enough happily married couples in fiction or cinema, are there?  Nice analogy.  Hope I don't disappoint!  

Tempest Princess:  Glad you liked that!  I absolutely agree with your quote.  Was that from his On Writing book?  I just loved that one!  And it does sum a lot up, doesn't it?  That's why some poems can literally leave a person breathless, when somehow, someone catches the sublime in the simple and makes you see the truth of it.  I heard a quote once where the writer said that writing is easy.  All you have to do is slit your wrists and bleed on the paper.  Capturing a feeling and conveying it with words…  It's the challenge that keeps drawing me back.  So I absolutely loved your point, because it's absolutely true.  When, as someone once said, the silence between the words speaks louder than the words themselves.  Le sigh!  Thanks for the terrific insight!  

Lilybee2003:  Wow.  I definitely admire you taking it all in one shot!  Thank you very much for that.  Every once and a while I'll get a feedback that makes me worry that what I'm trying to convey isn't succeeding.  Nope, no romance here.  Glad you agree.  Thank you so much for the kind review.  I must say this has been an absolute pleasure to write.  

Naia:  Wow… all at once?  Wow…  G  I'm really glad you like the story.  I love writing about these characters, so it does make it easier… 8-)  

LadyCatBailey:  hehehehehe…  *blushes happily*  Thank you very much!  Glad you like it!  Yes, I loved visualizing poor Sirius trying to get upstairs in French poodle form.  I had a good time with that one.  

x-woman: We'll see…  Hmm…  Lots more to come, so I don't want to spoil the surprise!  Sirius next chapter.  Honest!  Hm, I don't foresee that.   Not sure about Malfoy, but probably not.  I like the idea, though!  Yes, I am… 8-)

Sakura Blossom:  I'm so sorry!  I know I promised, but it was already 9 pages already, you see…  Next chapter, 1st thing!  Um… I'll take that recommendation to heart.  g  

Celebony:  LOL!  Hehehehe…  Nope, not gonna tell.  Yes, yes, so *this* week I really took two weeks.  Semantics, I say!  What's a week to a rock?  I could have meant *geological* time, in which case I posted *extremely* early!  Thanks!

SilentPegasus:  lol  No, I wish!  Hmmm…  I'll have to see if I can fit all that in.  I like the suggestion though!  Thanks!

Moonlight: Thanks!  Ironic, isn't it?  Bwah hah hah.  Oh, no, that's what Fudge is doing with the bodies of the people Voldemort has killed.  All those people murdered in Harry's dreams? The Ministry has been covering up the attacks, and cremating the bodies.  No one knows what's been happening, only that wizards and witches have disappeared without a trace.  The Dragonfire is hot enough to cremate the murder victims.  

Moonlight Yellow:  ahem  *Usually* every week.  I think I protested too much, didn't I?  I should have knocked on wood or something when I said that.  Hmm, glad you ignored that voice that told you not to!  Lots of Snape here.  Just one POV.  I picture the Ministry getting the Floo equivalent of a 911 call, then blanket Memory Charm the neighborhood.  I'm glad you like how I did Rita.  She's a tough one.  Oh, you'll get a kick out of this one:   pyretostium spiraero gland: fire opening breathing mouth gland.  I used medical terminology to put this one together.  Pyr(et)/o – fever/fire.  Or/o – mouth.  Osti/um – opening.  Spir – breathing.   Aer/o – air; gas.  Wow.  Okay.  Yes, I'm AR.  Lots of Snape in this one.  Absolutely, and I'll always take what I can get.  Thanks as always for the kind review!

Colleen:  8-)…  Never saw Jin-Roh.  Is it good?  Glad you enjoyed Arthur.  I sure have fun writing him.  I thinks it's the dynamics of a family.  There's very little that can be so simple and complex at the same time.  

Mara Arwen Black-McGregor:  g  I'm so glad you liked the Weasleys.  I love to show how they interact as a family.  Their dynamics are really enjoyable to write.  Yep, I see Ron as smart in other areas, just not necessarily 'book smart'.  I've known many people like that.  They may not get good marks in school, but no one would accuse them of being slow.  Oh, good, you liked the Barnes' addition.  I always worry about that sort of thing.  Yes, I'm missing Remus in this story.  He's taken a back burner for now, but he'll be back in the thick of things next chapter.  Trying not to let the muggles get me down.  Easier said than done.  Thank you for the kind review!  

Lothey:  I love it!!!!  I absolutely love your stuff, and I can't tell you how much it means to me that you're inspired to draw art based on my story.  It *really* means a lot to me.  I must admit, I've taken to keeping your pic of Harry and Sirius open just to inspire me.  Anyone else reading my responses, Lothey has drawn a delightful pic of Harry studying his "Quidditch book"  g:  http://www.geocities.com/gredandfeorgeareuptonogood/Book.jpg  As for where this story is going, I'm glad I'm still keeping you guessing!  Yes, even *I* am really wishing I could see Harry happy.  Jeez, who'd have thought I could angst out lil' ol' me?  8-)  Pah!  Never!  

AutumnHeart: Thank you very much!  I worry about that, but so far my mistakes have been relatively minor.  *knocks on wood superstitiously*  I hope the unwind is as good as I picture it in my mind.  I agree with Arthur's typical depiction.  Thanks.  I've seen enough storylines where the main conflict seems so personal, like it's *just* Harry and Voldemort, and everyone else are bit players.  Although I'm sure Harry feels that way, I think it's a bigger idea.  The discrimination, the fear, the random attacks…  An entire community won't even say his name.  Although I see a big similarity to Frodo, there is a pronounced difference too.  While Frodo was swept up in events he had no chance to succeed at, Harry is not only forced to, he's expected to.  He's expected to win, he just can't see how he's going to do it.  Nope, not paralleling that one!  8-)  Oh, and in my delusional world, Frodo didn't cave at the last moment, the ring finally overpowered him.  *sticks fingers in ears to prevent any discussion*…  Hmmm, neither looked right to me, either.  Although, I swear some days even the word *are* looks bizarre to me.  Go figure.  Thanks!

Sherylyn:  *wipes brow in relief*  Good.  I liked having Arthur threaten Rita.  He's not a man to make idle promises.  He he.  Hadn't thought of that one.  

Wonder:  Sorry it was two weeks this time!  8-(  Thanks!  *blushes happily*  

Juushita: Thanks!  I could visualize it, too.  Heh, gotcha with that?  Cool.  Thanks again!

P.A.R.:  You're back.  This single POV chapter was just for you.  Well, mostly.  8-)  Yep, you totally got me on the Ginny thing.  lol  Yes, I know.  At the time, I used it just to ease the transition from formality to friendship, because it already hadn't been established.  I agree, though.  Mea culpa!  I guess I'm surprised you like my description so much, because in my mind it's still a bit weak.  I try to put in enough to flesh things out, but I sure feel like there's lots of people out there who do better.  I do consciously try to stay away from clichés, although darn it if they don't sum things up the best sometimes!  Oooh, I'm glad you liked that!  I wanted to convey the true horror, and how it *had* to change how they perceived Harry.  After all, this is a lot more than a quick AK!  As for the plot, let's just say my fiancé wishes I'd use all this energy towards original fics!  8-)  Hmmm… did I clear it up better in later chapters?  Should I have hinted further in the beginning?  No, I understood your point, but because I'd started Snape as 1st person I feel obligated to keep him that way.  When I do a rewrite, I may try to match it up, but…  This far in, I felt I needed to carry forward with it.  You know, it's funny, but because I've put Harry through *so* much, coming up with unique and sinister symptoms that don't sound repetitive has become a bit of a challenge, so I'm glad you like it!  g  Hmm.  Foreshadowing there.  Was it too soon?  I thought it sets the intention for what Harry later does.  I had to look up the title to see what you meant.  8-)  I hope I'm not being too subtle.  It's a fine line, because I don't want to be so obvious I beat everyone's head over the point.  I personally like those moments of 'Ah hah', so try to keep them from being too overbearing.  Of course, I'm the one with the outline, too…  8-)  2nd paragraph in 17?  Yes, I did ramble.  The discovery of italics and uploading in html has enabled me to differentiate between thoughts a bit more in later chapters, too, so hopefully when I do something like that, it reads better now.  Hmm.  True.  Good point.  Of course, do you see them remembering to do that all the time?  You're right though, more effort and mention would have been appropriate.  I love Snape and Lupin together as well.  He's actually far more challenging to have interact with Snape than Sirius, just because of the complexity of their relationship.  So, does that play better now?  When Arthur threw Sirius the wand, did it come together, or did the foreshadowing fall short?  Just curious with the later stuff, now that it's passed, if it played out any better.  I'll try to do better with the more distinct marks between paragraphs…  I discovered (this is preHTML upload, mind you) that my paragraph border marks (XP) weren't showing up.  So, completely my own fault, because I don't want to repost anything until I've got all the reviews saved off (I'm a total reviewaholic).  But I did have breaks, they just didn't upload.  Hopefully later chapters are better?  No, no worries.  My responses are also pretty bad grammatically and all that.  I'm grateful for all the time you've spent helping me with this story.  Your input has been enlightening, to say the least, and I really enjoy going through the story line by line with you and really *seeing* what you're referring to.  It helps a lot!  So, no worries about spelling errors.  Hmmm…  Should Willaby have been mentioned earlier, then?  Would that have been smoother?  See your point about Hermione.  I could have built that up better. I love Sirius and Lupin, just because there is so much still unsaid between them.  There is so much water under the bridge between them, it makes for really rich dialogue.  I see your point, but I thought I did convey it a little bit.  Percy keeps his distance in his embarrassment of his family.  I felt it gave him a sense of superiority that wouldn't necessarily disdain his family's opinion, but certainly would make him question it.  I can see what you mean, though.  I agree, though.  I've really tried t keep it close to canon.  Me too.  It's such a protective gesture!  By the way, I loved that story!  Hmm, didn't mean for the plausibility factor to drop.  I just saw Snape still trying to keep the peace.  If he said he wouldn't come to blows, then he'd really strive to honor Albus' wishes.  I should have conveyed that better.  Continuity thing, there.  A simple reference to an *empty* glass would have sufficed, huh?  No, *I* don't think he's old, but I do see him as seeing himself as…  jaded.  Even old.  Worn out.  Haven't messed with the dictionary addition yet.  Hmmm.  Not sure what didn't play for you  with that one.  Rain and cloudbursts are different.  It can be raining, but a cloudburst is a torrential downpour.  I'm not sure if Snape would care enough to know the details of the Gryffindor pet status.  Like I wouldn't see him knowing about Scabbers either.  He'd know about Hedwig, of course, because of how visible she is, but really… Crookshanks wouldn't be commonly  visible, I wouldn't imagine.  Of course, Minerva would know, but that's different.  I did Snape's POV different because of what I foresaw as problems in delving into the bond with Harry.  Because this story is more of an ensemble piece, I do switch a lot.  Yes, it enables me to keep the plot in place, but I didn't see it as cheating.  As for the bleeding over of 1st person and 3rd, you're right.  It is hard to switch back and forth.  My bad.  I see your points about mixing 1st and 3rd, and can see why you're protesting so much.  For this story, though, I started it with Snape's POV as 1st person and feel it would take away from it to switch it so late in the game.  In the future, I will try to refrain. How about keeping it to just one POV?  Did that help?  I can see what you mean about the actual abruptly stilling.  It could almost be read as Bugs Bunnyesque, couldn't it?  8-)  Glad you like the Sirius scene.  Hmm.  Not sure if I rushed it or not.  Oh, yes, another continuity pause, isn't it?  I suppose it's silly to mention something about it now just to explain the gap?  I'll see if I can stick something in.  Well, as always, thanks a TON for all the input.  It's funny.  Now that they have that silly time-out thing, it lets me know just *how* much time you're spending giving me input.  Wow.  Considering how much I admire and respect your work, it *really* means a lot to me.  I eagerly await anything additional, and am truly grateful (and just a hair intimidated) by your input.  It's really good stuff.  Please please please continue!  


	31. The Trail

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. All I can do is worship him from afar. Alack.

Author's Note: Thank you very much to all of you who checked in to make sure I hadn't dropped off the face of the earth. Sorry for the delay in posting. Moving absolutely sucks, but hopefully I'm beginning to get settled. I promise to endeavor to return as closely to my old posting routine as possible. In the meantime, I greatly appreciate all the terrific reviews! If you haven't seen the new Harry Potter movie, by all means Go See It! It's great fun, and just in time to put me back in the Harry Potter spirit! Well, on with the show… 

****

Chapter 31

Sirius wasn't sure when other memories began to surface. It could have been days or even weeks ago for all he knew. But once he realized they'd begun to materialize, he'd clutched to them greedily like a starved man to food. They were precious jewels, faded thoughts and moments of happiness, mischievousness, joy, camaraderie. They were brief moments in time where things were ***right***, when life felt worth living and friendship was more important than breathing. He wasn't sure why now, in the midst of such profound sorrow and loss, these memories burbled up, but it made him come to some strange revelations. 

He'd been running for days after Crookshanks. Yesterday they'd entered a forest he could see no end to, its thick underbrush forcing burs into his fur, knotting his coat so tightly it pinched his skin as he chased after the ever elusive Kneazle. 

Each evening, just after twilight, Crookshanks would no longer move. It was as if he decided Sirius could travel no further, and forced him to rest for the night. Rest was the furthest thing from Sirius' mind, but as he had no idea what the Kneazle was tracking… there was no scent or trail he could discern… he was forced to acquiesce. 

His body had long ago stopped protesting. He'd pushed himself far beyond normal limits, and it was by will alone that he followed Crookshanks. His pads were bruised and split, and jabs of pain shot up his legs as he ran, threatening worse injury than just wear and tear. It had begun to rain last night, and the soaked thick forest floor felt soothing to his aching paws, the cool squishy sensation welcomed and relished even. Today he realized that he'd begun to whimper as he ran, his tongue lolling ridiculously, coated with a thick film; a sure sign of dehydration that indicated he couldn't even take the time to take a drink even with puddles of fresh rain water all around him. 

When he'd first set out after Crookshanks, memories of just ***after* **that fateful Halloween began to drift into his mind. The brutal handling by the Aurors as they escorted him directly to Azkaban. It was clear from the start there would be *no* trial. They'd forced him to Apparate to the departure point at the mouth of the bay. It was the dead of night, and his shouts of insane laughter had long ago turned to sobs of despair. He'd longed for death… even the Dementor's kiss, and had been profoundly disappointed not to get it. It had been all *his* fault, and baby Harry's lonely, frightened wails from the midst of the rubble of Godric's Hollow haunted Sirius even before the Dementors got a hold of him. 

It was a sound that Sirius had known would never be answered. Harry's cries for his parents would no longer be responded to by laughter and kisses, by arms sweeping him up and lifting him high, holding him close to ease his fears. Of course, only Sirius' worst fears would show the pain, abuse and neglect that the loss of his parents truly did bring Harry. 

Sirius ***knew* **that Harry had been abused more than just that one year. It was evident in everything from the scars he bore to the pain and guilt he accepted so readily. At first, Sirius couldn't understand why Harry refused to admit the abuse. It seemed absurd, really, with all the evidence to the contrary. Harry had just shrugged and referenced strange Muggle accidents, obvious lies his relatives themselves undoubtedly told Harry to tell anyone who asked. It maddened Sirius until Remus finally pulled him aside.

"Why won't he admit it?" Sirius had asked, frustrated and exasperated. 

"He would, if he thought you would let it be, Sirius. Now that his secret is out, I don't think that's the problem," Remus had replied.

"Then what's the problem?" Sirius had asked. Personally, he'd wanted to shake Harry silly. It seemed so alien of Harry to lie like that, and it bothered Sirius far more than he understood why. 

"You." 

"And why, pray tell, is that?" Sirius growled. 

"What good is it going to do? It won't change his past, and it'll just serve to make you feel worse than you already do. He'd rather move on from there. It's you who are dwelling," Remus said solemnly. Sirius couldn't believe his friend was advocating Harry *not* telling the truth. 

"I may be slightly crazy, Moony, but just accepting lies never did anyone any favors," Sirius had said. 

"You're right. There will come a time when he'll need to talk about it, and you'll need to curb your instincts to tear his relatives limb from limb. The home reeked of abuse, Sirius. I understand your need to pursue this. But he's going through so much already. Let him leave this for another time, another day. He's choosing his battles, Sirius. Let him," Remus had said. 

Looking back, Sirius realized which battle Harry wanted most to win. Sirius' freedom. The realization made him want to crawl into a hole and cry until sanity fled. Harry had wanted the truth of Voldemort's return to be heard, but he'd also wanted to exonerate Sirius, and the thought was nearly too much to bear. 

This precious time he'd had since being reunited with Moony had opened Sirius' eyes to several profoundly frightening qualities he had. Sirius was well acquainted with pain and regret, but as far as life lessons went… in twelve years time he'd only learned one. _Don't trust Wormtail_. He couldn't even claim that the lesson was to have more faith in himself due to how badly he'd botched trying to capture Peter afterwards. 

Moony had always been naturally reclusive, so he didn't count in Sirius' calculations, but most people by Sirius' age had had a whole plethora of life experiences and profound moments of growth. Loves gained and lost, decisions that should have been more thought out… Friendships both old and new, possible career changes and the ever present chance to grow and learn. Sirius was rather… stunted in this area, and he'd begun to become more and more painfully aware of this as he began to differentiate his true feelings from the induced flashbacks of Azkaban. 

When he'd lost Harry and imagined what it must be like for him… first the interrogation and then later the grim boat ride to Azkaban… Sirius had had to acknowledge the howling pain in his chest was not just love but *need*. He needed Harry, with ever fiber of his being, and he hadn't even realized it until Harry was gone. 

Harry needed Sirius. He *wanted* to live with him. He'd been rescued by Sirius away from those awful relatives. And during those grim moments in the witching hours when Harry would wake up, terrified he was back with the Dursleys or so shaken by the horrific visions Voldemort forced him to witness that he couldn't even speak, he'd let Sirius hold him in his arms and rock him back to sleep. He'd made Sirius feel like a human being again… and the feeling was heady indeed. Sirius had been cared for and even loved in his life… but never needed.

Sirius spent so long loathing himself in that awful cell, with the memory of Harry's heartbreaking cries a bitter lullaby to visions of James and Lily's bodies, strewn about the yard like casually tossed garbage. When he'd discovered that becoming Padfoot eased the effects of the Dementors… Sirius had resisted changing at first. He didn't deserve peace or a respite from his grief. He didn't care about not having a trial, and had tried on more than one occasion to provoke the Dementors into giving him the Kiss anyway. 

In later years, he'd bitterly resented his cellmates who'd gone mad. It was odd to listen to, albeit from afar. In madness, sometimes happiness could be gained. It drew the Dementors like moths to a flame, for as they drained the unbalanced happiness, the terror that madness could bring with it drew their punishments to entirely new levels. Sirius had seen the Dementors on more than one occasion cradle their victims like children in their arms as the inmates' babbled gibberish dissolved to gasps and gurgles. In the end they didn't even need the Kiss to leave only a husk behind. 

*Why* did he remain sane? Sirius understood the ramifications, but couldn't understand *why*. He had thought it yet another way life could punish him for his failures. *If only* he'd had more confidence in himself. *If only* he'd trusted Remus instead of Peter. Sirius had understood James' argument about Moony, but in retrospect he didn't see how it could work. It wasn't like Moony could talk as a werewolf anyway, even if technically he was a Dark Creature and therefore susceptible to Voldemort's power. 

Sirius had eventually given in to the occasional need to transform into Padfoot to stay alive. It wasn't until the newspaper article, that beautiful fluke of fate that put Wormtail *right* in his lap, that he'd realized why he was still sane. Although his life was forfeit, the need for justice, for revenge was not. *This* was the blinding reason why he was alive and intact, and the possibility to even the score had nearly made the Dementors cradle *him*. 

But Harry… Harry changed all that. It wasn't about revenge anymore… although there was no way Sirius would say killing Peter still wouldn't be like achieving one of his all time life goals. But the promise of a future… with Harry in it… 

Sirius knew it would take a long time for Harry to heal from this. He had barely been coping with the dreams as it was. He tried to suppress Remus' words as he described Harry's bewildered face the first time he'd encountered a Dementor. 

"Did you hear the screaming?" Harry had asked. His parents. He relived his own parents' deaths. _Don't think about it, Sirius_. _Don't think about what he's reliving now_. _Focus. Wet trails, cold drizzle, Crookshanks up ahead. Catch him, you dolt_. Sirius forced himself out of his reverie, looking around him in surprise. He appeared to be in a churchyard. _When did the forest end?_ Rather frightening he hadn't noticed that. Sirius glared at Crookshanks, who looked no more winded than if he'd simply scampered through the Hogwarts halls for the afternoon. _Disgusting_. 

As Sirius loped across the clearing, he realized that he was in a graveyard. Very old tombstones were scattered in little clumps, testimony to the families buried together. He looked around curiously. Most of the headstones were quite old and weathered, with overgrown rose bushes and vines scattered around them, deliberately planted by the bereaved years ago. Slowly the overgrowth cleared away, and Sirius realized that he must now be in the more recently used section of the yard. A familiar scent caught his attention with the intensity of a lightening bolt. 

__

That smell! That's Peter. Sirius' bloody paws scratched at the wet earth as he skidded to a halt, eager for another whiff. _Is this what you've been following, Crookshanks? If so, I should have caught the scent long before now. But this isn't recent at all. What's going on?_ Sirius sniffed deeply of the turf, allowing his Animagus form to decipher the puzzle his mind tried to understand. 

__

This is Peter, but it isn't fresh. _It's months old. This doesn't make any sense. _A trail this old gave Sirius no hope of finding Pettigrew anytime soon. Alarm bells in his mind began to go off as Crookshanks stood on the other end of the graveyard, clearly wanting him to follow. _You're telling me this isn't what you're tracking? Okay, that's good… But a trail *that I can smell* goes this way_, Sirius thought towards the cat, although he knew Crookshanks wouldn't have understood him even if he'd barked. 

Sirius began to follow the path Wormtail had taken and choked as the hackles on the back of his neck raised. He wasn't even aware of the deep rumbling growl he made as his nose picked up the scent of someone else… In the distance, Crookshanks hissed, but Sirius didn't notice. He'd just caught the familiar whiff of Hogwarts earth, a teenage boy Sirius didn't recognize the scent of… and Harry. 

__

What? Harry? Sirius froze for a moment as he tried to keep his mind from racing out of control. He gathered his shattered concentration to try to focus on the task at hand. _The scent is several months old. This is evident_. In all this rain, he was surprised it hadn't disappeared already. Only the fact that high emotions left a far more indelible mark allowed Sirius to find it at all. Sirius could smell easily the sweat and pain of both boys, but especially Harry's. Peter's odor was of raw terror. Sirius closed his eyes as he tried to concentrate on what his nose was telling him. 

__

Harry was here, stressed and bleeding. Sirius looked closely around him. _He said the Portkey took him to a graveyard. Riddle, _Sirius squinted to read the tombstones in the fading light, looking for the name_. That's right. There should be a Riddle tombstone around here somewhere. That would be where they tied him up_. Sirius snuffed in shock. He'd found where Voldemort had risen. This had to be where Harry had been brought after the Third Task. Sirius looked towards where Crookshanks had been previously. Now he was gone. 

__

Damn it! Where've you gone off to, now, you bloody Kneazle? I found where he was reborn… Not that I'm sure what good it does me now. It's not like I can tell what was in the cauldron Harry talked about. Harry, Sirius said, but instead it came out a whimper as he smelled death. The other boy's scent abruptly changed… with a taint animals knew instantly. There was no masking it. _This is where Cedric died, then_, Sirius thought as the stress and pain in Harry's smell, even months old, nearly overwhelmed him. _Shock. He'd nearly gone into shock. _Sirius never told Harry, nor, if they both survived this, did he ever intend to do so, but as an Animagus dog he could clearly read people's emotions through their smell. Things people normally hid quite adeptly. It helped insure that Sirius didn't miss anything, considering how good Harry was at hiding his feelings.

Wormtail's terror left a tang in Sirius' mouth. _Are you terrified *of* him? _He absently asked the one man he hated nearly worse than Voldemort. _You just killed an innocent boy, and I don't smell a hint of remorse, you bastard. It's all about you, isn't it? No one else enters into that little mind of yours. Those brilliant, quirky eccentricities of yours. You weren't absentminded, you simply didn't care. Skipped birthdays, promises you conveniently forgot about_… 

__

"That's alright, Sirius. Peter will make a brilliant Secret Keeper. Heck, *he'll* forget where we are, and no one will find us ever again. We're set for life!" James' cheerful voice echoed in Sirius' head. 

The memory made Sirius nauseous, but with a morbid compulsion he followed Wormtail's trail. Harry's fear and… resignation was a bitter taste on Sirius' tongue as he stared in shock at the tombstone. _This is it_. _Where Peter cut Harry's arm. Will that bloody cut ever heal? _It tore so easily and never properly mended. 

Sirius winced at the memory of taking Harry's arm, trying to keep him from turning away and hiding his face. Harry hated showing pain. He swallowed it up within himself until only his eyes betrayed how much he felt but rarely revealed. Sirius instinctively knew it was eating Harry up inside. _Yell, damnit. Rail, scream, holler, wail at the bloody injustice of it all. It's unfair! Why me? _All those things Sirius had absolutely *no* problem expressing, he'd desperately wanted to see a flicker of in Harry. 

Sirius' emotions were rarely a mystery, as Moony could more than attest to. Only in the later years, since Azkaban, had the pain morphed into something more. Once the Dementor induced memories subsided, the memories of Azkaban itself began to haunt his dreams. 

The way the waves lapped against the rocks, a constant scraping sound of sand and salt against stone. Sometimes it seemed to Sirius as if nature itself was desperately trying to wear the tiny island into oblivion. _Do us all a favor._ The smell of decayed wood, of dead fish rotting on the shores. The occasional carcasses of *bigger* sea life simply decomposing where they lay, washed ashore with the larger storms that assaulted the island in the winter. Sirius knew exactly how long it took for a seal's flesh to melt away, diminished by flies and the elements, before it stopped smelling. How long until only bone remained, bleached and brittle. 

Only in Sirius' dreams, instead of a seal's carcass, it was Harry's body that washed ashore. The remainder of the dream was of Sirius being forced to watch the boy's lifeless eyes staring at him as raindrops filled them up, almost as if they were silent tears sliding down Harry's face. Sirius forced himself away from that reoccurring dream. _Enough!_

So, you've found where he rose, and you've got Peter's scent. Crookshanks has disappeared… What now? Sirius pondered. The smell of blood filled his nostrils, a great deal of blood. _Peter's blood. You cut off your own hand for that monster. I just don't understand_, Sirius thought, shaking his head. With just a few more steps, he could see the scorch marks. 

__

This is where the cauldron was. Flattened sod with a slight indent, Sirius noted_. It was hot, too. _Turning his attention to just what his nose was telling him, he closed his eyes. _What strange smells these are. There is no way I'll even be able to hint at a list of ingredients to whatever was in that cauldron… What is this? _Sirius's eyes snapped open again. _Oh… _This couldn't be what he thought it was. _What is this?! _Sirius felt alarm as he followed Peter's trail to the edge of the burn marks. 

Abruptly, Peter's scent had changed. _Pain doesn't do that. Pain and duress are only temporary modifications… and the foundational scent remains the same. Only death alters it permanently. _Sirius felt panic threaten to cloud his thoughts and he couldn't even trace the source of it. There was something about this smell that he should know, and the knowledge was already frightening him, making his heart hammer in his chest. What was it? _Bloody hell. This is a permanent change to *him*… Peter. He doesn't even smell like Peter. He's different and… ***I've smelled this before***! _

Sirius abruptly changed back into a man, gasping for breath as he collapsed to his knees. His hands were bloodied and cracked, smeared with mud and grass stains. He ***had*** smelled this before. At the Burrow. While Harry was there. _Oh my God. He was there. He was there, spying, and we didn't know it. Of course he could get there. Stupid, Sirius, he *lived* there, for Merlin's sake. Wards are only for those who aren't welcome. At one time, *Scabbers* was practically part of the bloody family. _

Wearily, Sirius stumbled to his feet, fighting the nausea long enough to step away from the Riddle tombstone towards a cluster of overgrown bushes and dry heaved. Here he'd been trying to protect Harry all this time, and Wormtail had still managed to be at the Burrow. 

__

How long? How much does Pettigrew know? He *has* to know about the dreams. And he *has* to know about the connection to Voldemort. How much has Peter figured out? Was he there when Harry actually intervened in a dream? Does he already know the Ministry of Magic has Harry? Do they know Harry's in Azkaban? If Voldemort *****knows* about the dreams, can he use them to harm Harry even more than he already has? 

The questions whirled around in Sirius' mind, overwhelming him with a sense of complete and utter failure. He'd failed *again* to protect Harry. It was simply too much. He fell once again to his knees and the moan of despair he uttered sounded alien even to his ears. 

*Crack* 

Sirius stilled at the sound of a branch breaking. Someone was in the graveyard with him. Immediately he morphed once again into his Animagus form, abruptly energized by adrenaline. _Who's here? I hope it's you, you son of a…_

The scent that hit him was filled with exotic aromas, sweat and pain. Only one man smelled like a walking apothecary, and with a snarl Sirius leapt forward_. Severus Snape. Fancy meeting you here. So were *you* here that night as well?_

The rage and helplessness allowed Sirius to ignore the obvious holes in his theory. There was *no* way Harry would have ever let Snape near him had he been there, and Harry *would* have told Dumbledore if Snape had. But Sirius didn't care. What were the odds that the supposed *spy* for Dumbledore happened to be in the very same place where Voldemort was reborn? The fact he was still a *spy* was entirely beside the point.

The figure cloaked in black weaved dangerously as he made his way across the churchyard. Snape stumbled frequently, and was distracted enough that he didn't even hear Sirius crashing towards him. He didn't look Sirius' way until he was upon him, his bulk airborne and slamming heavily into Snape's chest. 

"Ooooof," Snape said as he hit the ground hard and skidded a few feet, his head thumping the ground as he landed. _That sounded painful_, Sirius thought with satisfaction. _Good. I hope that hurt_. Snape's wand was out in an instant, but Sirius was already ducking it, biting Snape's hand and forearm, keeping it pointed away from his body. 

"What the..?!" Snape exclaimed, his surprise tinged with pain and exhaustion. Snape's cowl flew back, and his black eyes narrowed in anger as he recognized Sirius. Sirius realized Snape's other hand appeared to be reaching in his belt for something. Sirius shook Snape's arm violently, trying to force him to drop his wand. 

"Black!" Snape hissed. "What are you doing? Let go of my arm, you pathetic mongrel. Don't make me have to kill you," he said, although his tone clearly indicated he wouldn't ***really*** mind if he had to. 

Sirius' Animagus form didn't allow him to scoff, but the *shuffing* breath of doubt conveyed his message clear enough. The sharp prick of a knifepoint at his neck caught Sirius completely by surprise. 

Of course, it would have to be Snape who wouldn't rely on just wands, using Muggle weapons as well. Sirius had been so focused on keeping Snape's wand pointed elsewhere he hadn't worried about the other hand. Sirius froze, his blind rage abating a bit as he looked closely at Snape's condition. 

The Potion Master's skin was waxy white, soaked with sweat. Strands of black hair stuck to his forehead, and the veins on his neck seemed to stand out with strain. As Sirius allowed his jaw muscles to relax he caught the faintest whiff of Pettigrew. In fact, Snape's wand reeked of Wormtail. It seemed permeated with the strange _was it Dark Magic?_ scent of Peter. Each breath Snape took seemed to be a bit of a struggle, but Sirius wasn't sure if that was from an earlier injury or because of his tackle.

Snape had been near Wormtail… Recently. Just a few minutes ago. _Where did you come from, you slimy bastard_? _Is that where Crookshanks was trying to lead me_? _To wherever you were_? _I'm wasting time here_. Sirius needed to extract himself from this confrontation and follow Snape's trail. _He's close. Look at you. You can't have come far_, Sirius realized as he looked intently at Snape. Even though his eyes were black, Sirius could still see that Snape's pupils were tiny pinpricks themselves. He appeared to be in a great deal of pain.

Sirius sniffed deeply. _What else can you tell me_? _Pain, exhaustion, Pettigrew, resignation, *cheerfulness*? What_? Not something he'd ***ever* **smelled on Snape before. And faintly, _I could almost swear you smell a bit of… Harry? Why would you smell like Harry? _Had he seen him? Had Voldemort already gone to Azkaban and gotten Harry? 

Sirius had to struggle to keep from whimpering as a whole *new* set of fears overwhelmed him. Snape took the opportunity of Sirius' distraction to look around him, using his wand with a whispered spell to detect if anyone was nearby. Was Snape checking to see if he'd been followed? 

"Well, all is right with the universe again. *Of course* I'd run into you. But perhaps this can go my way…" Snape said introspectively. All Sirius could think was, _Why do you smell like Harry? What is going on? _"It's my karmic right to kill you, you know," Snape said and pressed hard the knife in Sirius' neck, drawing blood, forcing him to back off Snape's torso. Snape pushed himself upright wearily. Sirius wanted to ask his questions aloud, but knew there was every possibility he could transform right into Snape's knife. 

Snape looked at his bloodied sleeve and shook his head. "You stupid fool. What were you trying to do? Kill me? The universe has such an enormous sense of irony that it humbles me," Snape said, his lips tight. He turned his attention back to Sirius. "Kill me, you half-wit, and you'd have killed your Godson as well," he said. Sirius' eyes widened in shock. _Was that a threat? _Sirius growled even as Snape let the knife slip slightly away from Sirius' neck. 

"For Merlin's sake, change already. I don't have time for you, and clearly this needs to be resolved," Snape spat. His hands trembled, but the wand was still steady in his hand. Sirius changed. Snape's eyes took in his state with a glance, noting his bloody hands and the state of his clothes and hair. He slipped the red tipped knife back in his belt and pressed his good hand against his torn forearm. 

"Now listen close, and listen good. Potter is alive. He is an Animagus. Voldemort is heading to Azkaban to retrieve him. He knows about the dreams. I'm going to tell Albus. I have no idea how you got here, but if you're thinking of going where I've come from, you'll be taking on Voldemort and nearly twenty Death Eaters by yourself. Since you're pathetic even against one, I'd suggest you rethink your options," Snape said. 

"You smell like Harry," Sirius stated in a near croak. How long since he'd last spoken aloud? Snape's eyes widened. 

"Really?" Snape replied, genuinely intrigued, then his eyes narrowed as he regrouped from his surprise. "Obviously, you were sent on a fool's errand to keep from being underfoot. How you actually succeeded in tracking down Pettigrew is beyond me. Now, though, you're a menace. Leave the decisions to those of us who know what's going on. If you really want to feel useful, why don't you go to Azkaban and see if you can break out that Godson of yours? *That* is something you've done right, although I still contend it's a fluke. Keep messing in matters that are none of your concern, though, and you'll have Potter's death on your hands as well as his parents due to your lack of judgement." 

Sirius felt the rage boil inside him until the sides of his vision swam with red. "Back to this, are we? We can make this real," Sirius said, his voice quiet. _Make the fight real_, his insides screamed. _End this. He's evil. You've always known he's evil. You knew it even then, years ago, when you'd hoped to scare some humility into that arrogant sneer_. Then why does he smell of Harry? What was he talking about? _Kill him and I kill Harry? Is he threatening me? Harry's scent is exhausted, and in pain, but not *because* of Snape. _Sirius wasn't even sure *why* he knew this truth, but he did nonetheless. 

"We don't, because it's time to grow up, Black. This isn't about you, and this isn't even about me. This is about Harry," Snape said, and the way Snape said Harry's given name caused Sirius' mind to still. "Albus found a spell… I've been feeding Potter with my strength. Don't ask why it was me and not you," Snape said with a raised hand, shaking his head. Sirius' jaw clicked shut, the question unasked. "This is Azkaban we're talking about. The spell was based on our mutual dislike of each other," he explained quickly. "We've managed to keep Potter alive, but… He just saved my life. Through his dreams," he said, and laughed bitterly, shaking his head again, this time in amazement. "Even in Azkaban, his connection to Voldemort is in full force. He's too weak to transform into his Animagus form, and I'm too weak to help him. Voldemort is on his way to kill Harry once and for all, and You. Are. Wasting. Precious. Time." 

Sirius internalized all that Snape said. It rang true. Every word of it. He reigned in his emotions and forced himself to look at things more calmly. *This* certainly explained why Snape would smell faintly of Harry. And it could even explain Pettigrew. Snape's physical state, the fact that he reeked of Dark Magic… the victim of it, not the giver. 

"Alright. It's too insane not to be true, and **you **are simply not that creative a liar. Will Dumbledore send anyone else to Azkaban?" Sirius asked. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"How should I know? I do know he's also working the legal channels to free Potter, but… It won't be in time. Potter is three cells down from your old home, so he'll be easy to find. The Dementor shifts remain the same. You know the timetable. Potter still carries the Portkey Dumbledore gave him. I've been thinking… Voldemort may have to disable the wards to take control of Azkaban. The Portkey would work then. All you need to do is get to him," Snape said, his manner brisk. Of course, he also never lowered his wand either. 

"Snape…" Sirius said, the words reluctant. Damnit, he ***knew* **Snape cared for Harry. Snape may be in denial about it, but scents didn't lie. As Snuffles, he'd smelled the concern and pity Snape felt for Harry. What Snape was saying made sense, and yet it was Sirius that ***still* **couldn't seem to move beyond his own animosity. It was stupid. He knew that. And Sirius also knew if he tried to be nice, he'd simply be mocked for it anyway. But this was enough. They were on the same side. Dumbledore was right. This was interfering with the bigger picture: Harry's safety. "How long do I have to get there?" Sirius asked. 

"Voldemort was already stirring as I left. They won't pursue me… Voldemort doesn't need me to be close to him to torture me," Snape said, absently glancing at his left forearm. "He knows about Potter's dreams now, so Potter has become the biggest threat. Overtures have already been made, and the Dementors evidently are receptive. I'd say three hours at the most if you want to beat them, but that means you have to arrive by boat, because until those wards are down, you won't be able to Apparate directly to the island," Snape said. 

Sirius nodded and turned to walk away. Even the shoreline had alarm wards, so the closest Sirius could come undetected would be several kilometers away from the charmed boats. He'd need to find a boat of his own, preferably with a Muggle engine, as rowing would be too slow. What he'd give for a wand of his own again. 

"Black," Snape said, his voice calm. Sirius knew he had taken a risk by turning his back on Snape, but it was one final chance, the risk taken ***just*** to make sure that what Sirius' instincts were screaming were indeed true. 

"Snape," Sirius replied, pausing but not turning around. He did, however, glance over his shoulder. 

"This gets put on hold…" Snape said, raising his bloody forearm to be clearly seen. Sirius had indeed done quite a number on the Potions Master. Robe sleeve and skin were shredded, and the material itself hung damply, saturated with blood, "But you ***will* **answer to me for what you've done here today," Snape promised with deadly sincerity. 

"As it should be. For what it's worth… If you ***have*** done all you say you've done for Harry, then… I owe you a Wizard's Debt ***for* **him. Meet out whatever punishment you see fit," Sirius said, and meant. Snape's face slackened in surprise, then his eyes narrowed seconds before he Apparated back to Hogwarts. Sirius transformed into a dog once more, inhaling deeply the faint scent Snape still carried of Harry. 

Harry's scent had changed as well. _You forgot to ask what his Animagus was._ Sirius shook his head to keep focused. _Okay, so the new Animagus form Harry has could be why his scent is slightly different. Three cells from me. Easy to find. Boy, Sirius, you got lucky there. _

"Sirius?" A calm voice asked from behind him. Sirius gave a brief bark of joy as the wolf's scent arrived just as he caught sight of Remus heading towards him across the churchyard clearing. Twilight was finally fading into night. Only the street lamps that had begun to flicker lazily on illuminated his dearest friend. _What a bizzare, fickle thing hope is_, Sirius thought. _What are the odds Moony would show up ***just* **as I'm about to leave for Azkaban?_ Sirius transformed back into a man and walked eagerly towards Remus. Moony halted, his eyes widening in concern, noting Sirius' hands and the physical state he was in. 

"Moony! What are you doing here? No, wait, don't answer that. Snape, right?" Sirius asked after just a second's reflection. Remus nodded.

"He arrived as I was leaving. Good thing, too," Remus said as he looked around him. "It would have taken four times as long to find you. I have some news," Remus said, his eyes eerily glowing in the street lamp, just as a wolf's would. 

"Voldemort is about to storm Azkaban. He's after Harry. I was just about to Apparate," Sirius interrupted. No sense wasting any more time than he already had. 

"Forget my news," Remus joked, then lowered his head to look at his friend more intently. "Tell me where you're Apparating to," he continued. Sirius shook his head. 

"No. You're not coming. You've got little defense against Dementors unless you're holding them off directly. Your Patronus will cause too much attention, yet you'll need it against so many. Snape indicated the Dementors have already gone to Voldemort's side," Sirius stated. Remus shook his head. 

"My Patronus is strong, but I can also handle not using it if I have to. You ***know* **what I experience around Dementors, Padfoot. I go through it every month. I am ideal to take with you, because I handle my worst fears and pain all the time," Moony said, and Sirius stilled. _Merlin_, Sirius swore to himself. _You're going to get yourself killed, Moony_. But he was right, and Sirius knew Harry stood a better chance with ***both* **of them trying to rescue him than if he tried alone. He had no intention of making this a suicide mission. Sirius nodded. 

"I'm glad you're here," Sirius said. Remus nodded and put an arm around Sirius affectionately, shaking him warmly. 

"I am, too, Padfoot. Let's go." 

And they did.

****

TBC…..

Kouji: I know, but cliff hangers are actually considered a good thing. I *want*** **readers to come back to the story. Thanks!

Aniwda: Hope I don't disappoint. More Pettigrew to come! 

Naia: Here you go! Next installment. 

Mistri: Glad you like it! 8-)

SilverWolf: Man, the whole thing in two nights? Gads. Glad you felt you had to! g Thanks for adding me to your favorites!

Heather: Not sure. The last two chapters I thought would be one, so just when I think I've got a clear destination in mind, the length increases. Not that I mind! 

Jarvey: I intend to! g 

Elizabeth Bathory: Thank you very much! 8-) 

VaderDWP: I hear you. Hope this chapter fills the bill! Thanks!

Dilandra: Yes, it is nice to see Harry take more action, isn't it? 

LaminaCourt: hehehehe… Hope Sirius doesn't disappoint!

Lady FoxFire: Hmmm, within the next couple of chapters… All in good time… 8-) 

WeasleyTwinsLover1112: Okay.

Moonlight: You'll see. Yes, what about that? Quite peculiar, isn't it? 8-) … I agree. I think Percy's next, then Snape and Harry again. Also the article… (hopefully g). 

PurePsychicEspeon: Thanks.

Buff200020002002: Okay. 8-)

Lisawescott: Well, I'm glad I'm your first (so to speak)! Thanks for reviewing, and hope the story continues not to disappoint! 

Mara Arwen Black-McGregor: hehehehe… I'm rather proud of Percy's growth myself. Oh, glad I was able to convey that! I wanted to get the right feel. Any bookworm worth their salt would have! g Well, I don't see Snape and Pettigrew close at any point. That's definitely more Lucius' domain. Oooh, good! Yippee! I wanted to find a way to convey just what kind of a villian would inspire the kind of loyalty he has… The key ingredient is for him to draw you into his world long enough so that you see things the same way his does… judgement gets warped and distorted, and you've sold yourself before you even realize what's happened. I know. I always think of him as 'Poor Harry' too! Thanks! And thank you very much for that as well! I think what they were trying to convey was that using third person **and **first person in the same story… especially with present tense **and** past tense, makes things complicated for the reader. And that is why I posted! I do want people to read it! So this is why I've been trying, these last couple of chapters, to keep the POV skips down to a minimum. It won't last, because of what I have planned… but for now I'm trying to be good! 

Celebony: Me too! Sorry it took so long to post! You'll see! I'm not sure yet, but the climax is coming relatively soon… I totally agree with that assessment. Snape is just too set in his ways and the way he responds to things. It's **him**. To try to change that is to simply transplant him with someone you **want** him to be, not who he is. Not that he's not coming around… He's just rusty… And he's subtle. No overtly emotional displays for him. 

X-woman: Fanfiction changed my perception of Snape as well. In the books, I hated him! Not sure… Can't quite estimate it, but the climax is coming soon! Hmmm… In the next couple of chapters I think. Hmmm.. Hermione won't pop up too soon, but more Sirius and Remus! You'll see! Hopefully, some of those questions will be answered soon. 

Kaydee: First of all…. Holy cow! G I'm glad you liked the pre-Harry Voldemort! He **is **intriguing, isn't he? I kind of see Voldemort as a hunter. Death is a means to an end, and if it's sporty as well, who is **he** to not take the time to enjoy it? He doesn't see his victims as anything other than a means to an end. Not in a detached "I don't want to know your name, because then I might care" way. More in a sociopathic way. He has absolutely **no** empathy, and other people's feelings just don't enter into the equation. Only his own, and how they pertain to him. Hehehe. Yes he is. The better villians **do** generally have something about them that either you so completely **don't** understand and never want to… to the point that it terrifies you (such as serial killers), or they have **some** human qualities. Enough, at least, to scare you with the realization that even if they are terrifying murderers, they have an innocent face, or a wry sense of humor, or **something** that makes you see how they drew people to them… even their victims. I think of Ted Bundy as I write this: a relatively handsome guy who used to wear a fake cast on his arm, pretending to be having a hard time loading groceries. He'd play on his victims' seeing someone in distress, and his own innocent looks lured them to take action in a circumstance they might not otherwise have done so… I know. Harry's not doing so well, is he? We **hope** Pettigrew redeemed himself. We'll see. 8-) Ironic, isn't it? It's more a matter of facing **what** he's done, I think, than facing Sirius himself. Look what Sirius said in the Shrieking Shack. If Peter would have died if he'd not told, then he **should have died**. But if he's with Voldemort, he can pretend he still didn't have a choice, that there wasn't a moment where he **did** play a part. So, yes, your assessment is very much in line. Goody! I caught you off guard again! I agree. Pettigrew's been hard to flesh out, but once I understood **how** he could have told, the rest fell into place. No, I understand what you're talking about. Unfortunately, you really don't get much of a sense of Peter in the HPuniverse. You don't hear about the positive, only what he's done… so in that sense I've kind of taken Peter as my own. Even Percy had a better defined set of values and personality than Peter. All you see is that he's been a pet for years and you're not quite sure why, that he begs for his life and seemingly kills Cedric without much remorse. He **did** try to say they could have used anyone's blood, that it didn't **have** to be Harry, but that was the extent of his trying to help out. Because everyone always seems to not quite have a grasp on who Peter **was**, I thought I'd interpret people's impressions. If they didn't know what to think about him… perhaps he **was** a bit strange. How would he have fit in? What would James, Remus and Sirius have seen in him? I don't think he was like Neville, where his own ineptness makes you feel sorry for him. I just don't hear that he was incompetent, just not exceptional. So, that led me to look at what areas he might excel at. Everyone usually has at least one, it's just a matter of finding it. And voila! (before I babble forever about how I came to these conclusions, I'll step away from the keyboard! g) I agree with that. Pettigrew is a part of the Marauder's past, and just because you don't like him doesn't mean he wasn't there. Someone else's quote. In fact, here's the full quote: 

**"Cowards die many times before their deaths; **  
**The valiant never taste of death but once. **  
**Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, **  
**It seems to me most strange that men should fear; **  
**Seeing that death, a necessary end, **  
**Will come when it will come." **

from Julius Caesar to Calphurnia in _Julius Caesar, act 2, sc. 2, l. 37-41_ (1623). Caesar disregards objections to his departure on the Ides of March for the Capitol, where he is to be assassinated. Oh… And that's William Shakespeare, by the way. 8-)

Hmmm… You know, I was going to answer that question, then realized I probably shouldn't. Hmmm… I don't necessarily think so, but… Good questions :: author gets thoughtful and ponders this:: Okay. Moving on. Glad Snapes' changes don't feel forced. That's the trick, isn't it? For a character to have growth so that you accept the new facets of their personality as real and believable. I agree, though, that Harry does change those around him, and usually for the better. Ooooh, you liked my metaphors! Goody! 8-) Hmm. Haven't read that story. I hate when that happens, especially if the story isn't finished. I feel bereft. Incomplete. I need **closure**. 50-100 pages? Good grief? 8x11 pages? Holy cow! Nope, never read it. Nor Frankenstein either. Pretty sad, isn't it? Well, thanks for the great review, and good luck with that class! Hope to hear from you again soon!

Lothey: I am SO SORRY that I didn't get a chance to respond to your email! My home email isn't working (I find this out **now**). I kept getting my responses to your emails sent back undeliverable, but didn't think to see if I could send to anyone else, either. Duh! What's the link to that terrific pic again? I have it on my background at home, but as I'm… ahem… not home… ahem… and not willing to disclose where I'm responding from ::cough::work::cough, I don't have it handy. I'm still getting the emails, and I can respond **before** I've downloaded them to my home computer, but not after. Sooo… to make a long story short… Next chapter I'll put the link for your pic up top for people to see… (Um, I think it's fantastic and really love for people to see your stuff, but you know, I've never actually asked. Is it okay that I do this? ::yeah, yeah… a little late to ask… blush:: ). I don't have the link right now. Needless to say, I thought it was terrific. It was a really nice way to get reacquainted with the story as well. It gets hard when you spend time away from something you're working on… you lose momentum. Your pic was a nice reminder of what I love about this story. Hence the title. 8-) Thanks again, and keep 'em coming, okay? I certainly enjoy your art, and it's amazing to see someone take care to actually put something I've written into a different medium. Hmmm. Angst. I'm **all** about the angst. g I've got a scene coming I'd really like you to do, but it hasn't happened yet, and I don't want to give anything away. Saw the movie, by the way. Have you? I loved it. Le sigh! 8-) Well, I'll try to point out the scene after it happens, but if not, just keep anything else you're inspired with coming! 8-) --- As for your additional review: That sounds really cool! I am totally intrigued! I've written it down, so now it's a matter of remembering to look for it when I enter the music store. I always seem to develop amnesia for whatever it was I **intended** to buy, and generally come out with something completely different. I will also print this page so as the music plays, I can follow your detailed description blow by blow. Actually, it interests me a great deal. I **love** music for the sake of how it applies to stories. I generally take movie soundtracks and place them to stories I have rolling 'round in my head. Red Planet, To Live and Die in L.A., City of Angels, etc… I love classical, but generally don't know enough about it to have the courage to buy much. Each year at Christmas time, NPR does a day's worth of the most amazing choral classical music. Now, if the announcers who are supposed to tell you who performed didn't **talk** so darn quietly, maybe I'd have more stuff to buy! You'll laugh at this, but I've actually been listening to some Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush when I roll this story plot around in my head. Mercy Street, Don't Give Up, This Woman's Work, Secret Garden… stuff like that. Anyway, I look forward to finding the music you're describing, and thanks for the review. I'm really glad you could relate it like that. It's quite a compliment! … I know, I know! Here's your shot of fanfic! G

Anti Pasta: That question will be addressed later, I think. Thank you very much! 8-) 

Laterose: Harry's going to be up again in the next couple of chapters. After all, we need to flesh out Peter's cryptic message. Not sure just **how** soon though. Really darn soon. How's that? But not the next one… I don't think… 

Sakura Blossom: So, was this enough Sirius for you? 12 pages of Sirius goodness… hehehehe.

Lilybee2003: Cool! Hmmm, I think I'm up to… 271. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! 8-)

Black Panther: Thank you very much for putting me on your favorites list! 8-) I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to read your story. I've been in the process of moving, and sadly enough will be moving again in a couple of months… I certainly promise to try though! 

Kapies: Okay. 

Wonder: Me too! Thanks very much! 

Summersun: Me too! g

Nimisha: Oh, thank you very much for giving me your review! I've really had fun trying to get into the HP character's heads, and have been a bit surprised myself. And to think, it's all because I was going absolutely **nuts** waiting for Book 5! Hope I continue to surprise you! Thanks again for your kind words!

AngelQuill: I apparently scared a lot of people about Snape. 8-) 

Doom Song: Well, you realize that he's still done some pretty bad things, right? He's not like Snape, where he's trying to repay his debts… But thanks anyway. I realized that realistically, it would have to be more than just greed or jealousy or desire or any of those basic things to get Peter to betray them, because if it had been on that alone, I doubt he would have been in Gryffindor. 

Moonlight Yellow: Hope this makes another sucky day better! Yep, I feel the same way. I loved him in Camelot and A Man Called Horse. Wow. The wand at the throat means Snape has no wiggle room. If he struggles even a little, the spell will be cast, and he's got absolutely **no** chance to dodge it. It's like a knife. There's a little room for negotiation if you can duck and dodge. But no, the damage would, I imagine, remain the same, except for things actually **shot** out of the wand. That might do more up close. No, Severus isn't begging on his knees… he's trying to sound reasonable to someone who's unreasonable, and as it's happening he **knows** that he's just taken that last, unforgivable step into something he **should have known better** than to have gotten himself into. Well, I wanted it to seem believable as to **why** this would happen. Harry isn't omnipotent, although it has been established that he is gifted. Hope it worked on the plausibility scale. Sorry there's no Malfoy here. 8-)

Lucerito-del-alba: Thanks! Okay.

Colleen: It does, doesn't it? Maybe he was waiting to see certain things, first… 8-) Or maybe he has a plan of his own? Things are on a roll, now, but it's still a little ways out to answer some of those questions. No worries about the rambling. I do like mind-boggling stuff, so I'll try to see if I can find it someday. Although lately, (you'll laugh at this) I've been preferring comedies and romance. Too much angst and not enough fluff in my life, you think? 8-) A terrific mind boggler is Usual Suspects. I really liked it. And Sixth Sense, too. 7 was good. Hmmm. I probably shouldn't get started, huh? 8-) Thanks for the review!

Sk8reagle: True. Might have solved some problems. Might create others, though. 8-)

Ratgirl: True. Sorry it took so long to post this chapter! 

Lisette: Thank you very much!

Jenna: 8-) Well, it's definitely getting **long** enough to be a book! g I am an adult writer, but not published, although that is a goal of mine. To do this full time, I mean. I just love writing. Actually, this is the first time I've **ever** put work of mine out for people to read. I'm sure glad I did, though. 

Fanficaholic1377: Boy, do I relate to your name! 8-) Thanks! East side? 

Fleur: It's just so against his nature! g I haven't read that one. Worth the read, huh? Details… 8-)

Aura: I doubt you'll be disappointed, but I'm at least glad you'll think so! Hmm. I'm planning on doing an article by her, but wasn't sure if I'd do a POV. 

Emily-nicole-05: Oh, I got a tip from someone to just do a 'Save As' to HTML, and that's solved my problems. It's cool to get the actual coding, though, too, so thank you very much! 8-)

Shattered: I did! I did! How cool is that! 8-) 

Louise: Thank you very much! I do have the advantage of writing this towards an adult POV, so that allows me the freedom to flesh these characters out more than they currently are. I also really do care about them, and want to try to see how **they** would respond to things. It's how I get my fix waiting for book 5. I have some plans with Pettigrew… Hope you're not disappointed! 

Christy: Thanks. 

Sherylyn: Here's Sirius. Move is finally over for a couple of months. Four kitties, one bedroom. What I wouldn't give for SPAAAAACE! 8-) Thanks!

Michelle: Hmm. Pretty curious, isn't it? Hidden allies are more useful than dead enemies. Besides, it's not like he cares if Sirius gets exonerated. He's more intrigued by this change in Peter as well. Besides, he really **was** too weak to do too much more, and he was more interested in not being chased than anything else. He's got to tell Dumbeldore… I know, I know. Poor Harry! Hehehehe… Yes, I do seem to excel at Harry torture, don't I? Hehehehehe, I understand that sentiment. No need to blush, I totally understand. Even I need fluffy bunnies occasionally. But will they be in this fic? Bwah hah hah hah hah! g

Stickmarionette: lol Sure, although you might change your mind if you knew the truth! 8-) Thank you very much, and hope this chapter didn't disappoint! G

Tempest Princess: Cool. 

Bree: Wow. Thank you very much! 8-) I'm glad you're enjoying it, and thank you for the kind review! 

Lisa: You know, I just read one myself where they got mean with Harry. I couldn't bring myself to believe it. As for Harry being suicidal, I stated earlier why I don't see him being that way, but not because he doesn't have reason to be profoundly depressed. He's just not the type to actively run away from something because it's hard. Now, passively… Hm. That **could** be possible. Personally, I love the way the characters are written and feel no urge to change that basic structure. I just also take some of the lesser explored characters and expand them a bit. Glad you like it, though. Thanks!… Very true, you're assessment about him going from a baby to a man. He may be young in many ways, but he's certainly never had a childhood to speak of, has he? Nope, you didn't embarrass yourself. I am a bit fond of the Harry torture. 

Sea Chelle: Well, thank you **very** much for taking the time to review! Oooh, I like that analysis. He's complicated, isn't he? I think that's something I really felt the need to explore with this story. Harry. I adore his character, but feel so… withheld from him. Does that make sense? He has such a tragic life, yet you very rarely get the dark deep down thoughts you know he has about what he's gone through. I think that's why I took the abuse angle to begin with. #1 is it would force him out of the Dursleys' home, because **jeez!** Nothing else seems to! #2 It allows for Harry to have a physical manifestation that forces people to confront what he's had to deal with growing up. Emotional abuse is just as damaging as the physical, but without the scars, who addresses it? Harry occasionally hints at how bad his childhood has been in the books, but no one comes out and says anything. They just look at him with sad eyes and say nothing. It's the pink elephant in the middle of the living room that no one will acknowledge, yet everyone knows is there. So, yep, I understand what you're trying to convey. I'm glad you like it. I like digging a little deeper into motivations. In reality, it's just the byproduct of trying to stay true to character. In order to know how someone will respond, you have to know **why** they respond the way they do. You have to know the reasons and intents behind it. Glad you like that as well. I've had a great deal of fun with that. I've also been occasionally delightfully surprised by it. I wanted a more complicated plot for this story, and am glad it's still flowing nicely. So, here's another chapter for you, so I look forward to more of your reviews. I enjoyed reading what you got out of the story, and look forward to how you'll elaborate on it! 8-) Thanks again for the kind review. Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!

H. Sanders: Bwah hah hah… Sorry it wasn't technically the same bat time… 8-) Ah, and famous first words of a p.o.'d DM… 

Ms.Padfoot1402: Nope, sorry. Thanks. 9? Gads, that sucks. 

Anonymous: Okay. 

Ariana Deralte: Thanks.

Maryanne: You got an account just to review? Very cool! No, nothing dumb about it. If you haven't done it before, it's **never** dumb! Nope, sadly enough, I'm not **in** school, although I wish I was. I miss it. Yeah, yeah. I'm old enough to be able to say that without sounding weird. 8-) lol I Wish! ::giggles:: Nope, I'm not. Pretty smooth compliment, though. Yep, I did. I'm trying to finish this story before she gets done. Did she?????? She did???????? Gack! Really??????? Arrrrgh!!!!!! 

Tir-synni: I know, you have, too… Here's a chapter for you… 8-)

Ernie Prang: Thanks! Me, too, actually. That's a good way to do that, isn't it? Cliffies do bring people back for more… Actually, I always intended for the Ministry to come, I just found myself selfishly enjoying all the interaction going on. You'll laugh, but it was a review that said something along the lines of: Is this story going anywhere? That kind of jangled me. So… I jumped into the plot. I was just procrastinating. I love the characters, and had so much fun, and I must admit that this is the first fully outlined story I've ever done. I was afraid the plot parts would seem forced, so I put them off for a bit. But once I got going… It's not so bad. Nope, constructive criticism is always welcome. I did set quite a few things up, though, too. Just only one thing at a time, whereas I'm definitely doing more now. I think… Yes, yes! I already got busted on that one! You are dead on. I actually meant to say Gillywater, McGonagall's drink. Details! 8-) I'll change it when I repost on FictionAlley. For now, I want to hang on to all my reviews… Thanks, I'm glad you liked that one. Thanks very much for your reviews! Hope you like this chapter as well! 8-)

Leaf: Okay. Thanks! Yes, I'm updating, I'm updating! G Thanks for the review. It just took a while to get hooked up where I'm currently living.

P.A.R.: Aaaah, there you are! ::grins madly:: Actually, he was looking at the moon through the cracks between the boards. Hmm. Did I not specify that? I'll have to peek. Hmmm. Just not as fleshed out perhaps? Lots to do there. I was rather pleased with the Percy/Arthur angle myself. Glad you liked it. Oh, thanks. Sirius is my favorite, but it **is** difficult to keep him real without limiting his emotional range. It's hard when the poor man has been forced to relive the same emotions for the past twelve years! g Hmm. I disagree there, but thanks anyway. I **highly** enjoy your writing. You are on my favorites, after all. Hmmm. I thought it flowed, but I'll look at it a couple more times. Sometines something that flows for me doesn't work for anyone else. Cool. Yep, Harry needed to be able to take action. He could only be the victim for so long before it either became too much or he had to find something to help him cope. Too long with the boat trip? I can see that. I just wanted to convey Harry's thought processes. It wasn't the Joan of Ark thing going on. He was still terrified and confused and hoping he did the right thing, and still slightly in shock that it all went so **badly**, even though he tried to prepare himself for it. Thanks! These last two chapters have been strictly 1 POV each, but I will switch back. I **hear** you about the POVs, but it's too late in the game for changes now. The climax is even dependent upon it. I'll certainly try not to mix it up in the future. I see your point. His trips down memory lane don't necessarily move the plot along. Some of them, like the story about the Dark Mark, I thought would help explain some things that will happen later, too. I felt it certainly fleshes out Snape's defection, and why so few others have done it. Some of them, though, are just because Snape's just so darn fun, so… fair enough. I'll ask the question. You know, that question is one of those things that indicate I've read too much fanfiction, and realized as soon as you asked it, that, Yes, I don't think it's addressed in canon, either. It's like Sirius being an Auror. Where did I get that? So no, you didn't miss anything. My bad. Hmmm. I did get the sense that he knew what they would be doing, or at least I tried to. I was just also trying to convey how no one **alive** could help them out, and that the spell they would be using had only been **read** about. It's like trying to describe a car. 4 wheels. Red. Kind of sleek. But there's so much more going on under the hood. I think even Dumbledore had just a slightly better notion of how the spell would work than Snape. Yeah, I see your point about how there could be holes. I should have spelled stuff out more. I felt that Azkaban was unplottable and only a select few would even know its' location. Dumbledore would undoubtedly be one of those few, but… I assumed that wards, etc. would prevent normal people from coming. The Dementors' influence would be great enough to keep human patrols to a minimum. House elves would report the missing, kind of like a daily bed check. The boats, should Harry have **tried** to escape, wouldn't have let him. Most people would never be able to come to Azkaban because of all the memory charms placed on them as well, even if they visited. Again, Dumbledore would be the exception. I also imagined Sirius to fall into this category, simply because by escaping he kept those memories intact. I assumed they got the cloak from Arthur, actually. All things I could have mentioned. I tried to explain about why Snape wouldn't be detected, and that it actually **was** a bit of a gamble, but you're right. This whole scene could have been a lot tighter in retrospect. Would magic set off alarms? Did Dumbledore do any additional cloaking spells to keep Severus undetected? It could have been a lot better explained. As for the 'Blank Slating' effect, I actually had a specific reason for that. Harry's in Azkaban, currently reliving bad memories, right? So, wouldn't Snape be a part of those? I imagined that Harry didn't look twice at Snape, because he'd already been seeing him due to the Dementors. But by telling Harry **how** Peter was broken, the ramifications for **what** Snape did for Voldemort really sunk in. I could have also mentioned that enough had gotten into Harry's system to help a bit, but I thought I did also convey that he still wasn't feeling all that much better all around. … You know what? I've thought that as well about the books! I love Harry, as we all do, but I feel the same way. There really **isn't** a lot of deeper exploration into his character. He and the others are very… surface. You get hints, of course, but… I come away feeling like it wasn't **quite** enough. Wanting more. I think that's half of why I've been so desperate for book 5. After all, **this** is something that will **demand** to be treated more in-depth, wouldn't it? Heck, that's half of why I started this story. I wanted to address how much I hated his family life, and how things just never seem to work for him the way they should. How many blows can a kid take and say, "I understand?" Okay. Got emotional there. I'm chilling out now… So, you are so **totally** preaching to the choir, P.A.R. Say it, sister! Nah, should have explained that better, too. I meant that they called him a freak even before then, but that he didn't know **why**. All he knew was that occasionally, weird things happened around him when he got excited or upset, and they always blamed him. I figured that even before the **Magic **word was used, he was never a part of Dursley life, he was still mocked and ostracized. So I think I was able to play that one off, but I see your point. It could well have been read another way. Others asked that question as well. Nothing specific. He just didn't want to touch him. Harry had spooked him with how he looked at him. Okay. Doh! Potions! He was filling the mattress with Potions! Really? I have a whole history, origin, and how it was used (and failed) that I'd originally put in for this spell, but felt it was **way** too much information, so edited it incredibly. I still thought I conveyed a lot, though. Hm.. Nope, that wasn't me. That's Lothey, who **rocks**! I've even gotten another pic from them, more recently, that I'll put a link to next chapter. (The link is at home, so I don't currently have access to it) Hmm. Obviously I'll have to check out the Teacher's Pet pics. Thanks! I've always wanted to be a twin, so perhaps have thought about it a bit much… 8-) Hmmm… This is where I can admit I had a hard time conveying what I wanted to. I tried several versions, and settled on this. It's where the plot begins to make it a little harder to work all that you want worked in, worked in. Hmmm. Okay. Point taken. I've been afraid of spelling things out too much, but you're absolutely right in that, as the author, of course it's obvious to me. I tried with this last chapter to spell out dialogue, explanations, etc. a bit more. Was it noticeable? I completely see where you're going with this. Because I'll always know where I'm going with this (or at least one would hope so g), I doubt I'll truly be able to read the story and see what's missing. I have to admit, though, that I hate reading stuff that's been dumbed down, so I think that's part of my aversion. Nope, what you're saying makes perfect sense. If I feel the urge to **hint** at something, I'll just spell it out instead. I guess I'm just also afraid that it leaves nothing for surprise. If it's obvious, then it takes some of the fun out of it. At least for me it does. Of course, I'm also the one no one asks what I think will happen next at the movies, because 9 times out of 10, I'm right. Cool! Word count is at 134,533 so far. Hmmm. Of course, that also means I'll be pushing the 150,000 I suspect before this story is done. Good info! That is really neat to know. (You never know what could also simply be a myth.) I have to admit that I'm shocked that this played as well as it did. I really had a hard time trying to convey all the sensations I wanted to go along with it. I've never really considered my strong points to be description… More like character development. As for the dialogue, I'll work on that. Perhaps it's too many years doing transcription. I say stuff aloud to make sure it plays, but maybe I should look more at the content. After all, this isn't David Mamet. Hmmm. Fair enough. Besides, dialogue is half the fun anyway. Especially when writing Snape! g Well, as always thank you SO MUCH for reviewing this story! I can't tell you how much it means to me, and I truly treasure your input. I'm actually intending, once this story is done, to go through bit by bit and edit it, tighten it, etc. and repost on Fiction Alley. I haven't fixed anything as of yet because it's still a work in progress, and as editing is actually my greatest flaw (I don't **finish** anything. I just start over a jillion times when something doesn't feel right until I get sick of the story and move on). Also, reposting means I lose all my reviews, and I'm really a greedy cuss. I've been saving them off. I really wish I could download them. That would be much simpler. But, I digress… I posted for two reasons: #1 To get some positive validation back that this **is** something I'm decent at, and #2 To lure the good authors to read my stuff, and to see what **they** had to say. You're really the first person who's ever gone blow by blow through something I've written in such amazing depth (other than my beta, who's amazing!) and pointed out the weak **and the strong** points. What am I doing right? With you, I have pages and paragraphs, moments that **really** worked. You've given me stuff to work on. I know I've got a long way to go to become published, but as I've finally admitted that **yes** this is something I really want to try to do, it's nice to have tangible things to work on. Dang. If I keep this up, my Author's Notes section will be as long as the chapter. Okay. I'll step away… Anyway, you're getting the impression I really appreciate the input, right? Just making sure! Thanks again…

Ron and Remus Lover: Thank you very much!!! … and thanks for putting me on your favorites list as well! 

Ariana Deralte: Thanks! You are most welcome. 

Tanya: No problem! Missed you! Oooh, sorry to hear that. I hope you're feeling better now. Yeah, I know it took a while to post this one. Hopefully the next one will come faster. Moving sucks. We'll just leave it at that. 8-) Hope you enjoy, and do feel better! 

Bobbi: Thanks very much!

Sil: Thanks.

Huushiita: I agree. But they can't tip their hand too soon, or who's to say the evidence doesn't **disappear**? Besides, at this point, there's no article yet, either. No sense taking chances yet. Well, here's the next shot of fanfic. Enjoy! 

IsabelleMalfoyPotterSnape: g Thank you very much! lol Hope you enjoy the chapter! 

Callas-and-ivy: hehehehehe. Thanks! ::blushes happily:: Spell checker… Pah! We don' need no stinkin' spell checker! 8-) Well, here's some more for you. Hope you enjoy! 

Sarahpeach: Here's another one for you!

Silent Angel: Thanks! Hmmm. I'll have to read that one. Too many fics, not enough time. Hehehe. It's easy to slip into, isn't it? Personally, I **love** The Mirror of Maybe. Intriguing stuff. 

Moonriter: I have to admit, I'm having a hard time, too. I've read enough fanfic, I'm curious how Book 5 will feel to read. I never read any fanfics between the other 4 books. Thanks! Yep, you're right, too. Does it further the story? Nope. Just me indulging my Snape love. Is that wrong? g Fair enough. Nope, constructive criticism is good. Hope you enjoy the chapter. 

The angelic vampire: Thanks.

Sunnycouger: No worries. Thanks for reviewing now! ::blushes:: That idea was my betas' suggestion. I'd been complaining that I needed birthday presents, and wanted a fresh approach, and this is what she suggested. Does she absolutely rock or what? You know what's funny about that? I **never** intended for Percy to develop the way he did. He just kind of took over, and pretty soon I realized how much he needs to grow up. I mean, it's one thing for Snape to take over a story. At least **I** think that's understandable. But Percy? How did that happen? 8-) Glad you like him! I hear you. I loathe Fudge as well. You are most welcome. Thank you again for reviewing! Hope you enjoy the chapter! 


	32. Ashes to Ashes

**_Disclaimer:  __What can I say?  Harry's not mine.  All I can do is borrow him for a while to satisfy my own Harry Potter withdrawal symptoms until Book 5 comes out._******

**Chapter 32**

"What do you have against Harry, Percy?"  A voice asked from behind Percy.  He'd been sitting at the dining table, committing the map Charlie gave him to memory, as well as organizing the scrolls he intended to bring with him.  Percy started and looked around.  _Fred.  He could tell nowadays because, if it were late in the evening, George would be asleep.  Although nearly healed, he still slept often, as evidenced by drifting off at the table even tonight.  So far, neither of the twins had come to talk about what had happened yet, but by the dirty looks Fred had been shooting at him all evening, Percy knew what was coming.  __Joy.    _

"I don't," Percy replied, his palms already beginning to sweat.  He'd found it easier to deal with his siblings when they were all together.  It forced them to be civil.  When they searched him out in private it was a different matter entirely.  Ron in particular proved to know precisely **how to go right for the jugular.  _Where did he learn that, anyway?_**

"Then why didn't you believe him?  I know he's younger and all, but he's still one of Ron's best friends.  He stays with us for at least a little bit in the summer, and Ron talks about him all the time.  You may not have spent a lot of time around him, but certainly more than most.  Why couldn't you accept what he was telling you?" Fred asked.  

"Do you know the tales I've heard about Harry?  The crazy rumors that float around about him?  I've heard them since he first started at Hogwarts, and every year forward," Percy said with a shake of the head, repressing a sigh, and rubbed his palms against his robes distractedly.  He was tired and discouraged, and didn't have the energy to dredge up much self-righteousness.  Not that it mattered anyway.  He knew he was wrong, but sometimes his defensive anger helped to soften the blows his siblings inflicted.  "He loses points for Gryffindor all the time, and he appears to break the rules every chance he gets," he tried to explain.  Fred's face hardened, his eyes cold.  

"What have you *seen* Harry do?  What's he like?  Percy, you don't pay enough attention to things to be entitled to make judgements about *anybody***.  You've seen how sick he's been.  What did you think it was?" Fred replied.  **

Percy took a deep breath.  That hit a bit close to home.  He still hadn't forgiven himself for not watching out properly for Ginny her first year at Hogwarts.  The signs had all been there; the way she withdrew so completely into herself, and how pale and frightened she looked toward the end of term.  He'd been too busy feeling self-important with his duties as Prefect to take the time to look out for his little sister the way he should have.  

"I was wrong, Fred.  How many times do I have to say it?  What will it take for you to believe just ***how* sorry I am?  How I would give *****anything* to get him back?  Better yet, to go back in time and make for *damn* sure I don't make the same mistakes.  I can't sleep, I can't eat, all I can do is remember the conversation I had with Harry right before…"  Percy's jaw snapped shut.  **

"Before what?" Fred pressed.  Percy looked at his brother miserably, but answered anyway.  

"Before they gave him the Veritaserum.  Harry was right, Fred.  About everything.  About You Know Who.  Look at this," Percy said, pointing at the pile of parchment on the floor next to the bookshelves, all the paperwork they'd sorted through to find the tiny smattering of evidence.  "I'm about to go try to prove the people ***I* have worked so hard for, believed in, have been cremating You Know Who's victims rather than telling the public the truth.  Don't you think I know what I've done?" Percy asked, his voice raising an octave.  Fred shook his head.  **

"I don't know.  Do you?" Fred asked coldly.  Percy felt his throat constrict at the tone of Fred's voice.  

"Believe me, brother, I do.  Because of me, they are, as we speak, torturing an innocent boy who could **die because I handed him over to the very people my family has been trying to protect him from.  Because of me, the Ministry still hasn't warned the public.  Would alarms or defenses have helped some of the latest victims?  If I hadn't participated in the cover-up, would there be more people alive now?  I remember all the questions Fudge had me ask Harry.  Merlin, Fred, don't you think it's occurred to me just how cruel they were?" Percy hissed, trying to make sure he didn't raise his voice loud enough for his parents to hear him, while still trying to convey just ****how strongly he felt.  **

"You didn't see him when they first brought him over this summer, Percy.  How badly he looked.  He had bruises around his neck.  Merlin, his own uncle tried to strangle him!  And you weren't there when the Ministry attacked the house.  You didn't see George and Mum…  You didn't see…  Percy, how could you do it?  Do you really trust your family so little?"  Fred asked, suddenly sounding more mature, more serious than Percy had ever heard him sound before.  Percy ran a hand through his hair in agitation.  How could he explain it?  

"I just…  I just couldn't believe it.  I didn't *want* to believe it…  Do you want to know the cold, hard truth why I was so adamant not to believe you?  Because I was arrogant.  My impressions were the *right* ones.  It couldn't be *him*…  I didn't want to believe You Know Who was back …  I wanted you to be wrong.  But people were still missing, and so much still appeared to point to Harry.  I latched onto the belief that if we could just get the whole story from him… unedited…  everything would become clear.  *And* I certainly knew I wasn't being given the whole picture," Percy accused.  

There was the crux of his argument.  Percy had known enough to realize he wasn't being told the truth.  Wizards and witches were missing, and Harry knew something about it.  His reaction to the Daily Prophet article proved it.  Percy's family certainly hadn't been giving details about what was happening with Harry, and Percy had feared for the worst.  He'd been right, of course, but not in the way he'd imagined.  He'd felt *the Ministry* needed to know, and taken it upon himself to pursue it, when really it had been the other way around.

"Hmm.  Do you *really* wonder why we didn't trust you with the whole truth?" Fred mocked, his eyes bitter, as if he read Percy's thoughts.  It was a threat more than a question, and Percy started in surprise.  He'd never seen this side of Fred.  It terrified him, and made him feel sick inside.  Percy's actions had created this angry, hateful brother.  Percy didn't want Fred to answer his own question, and thankfully, he didn't.  "So what do you do now?" Fred asked frankly, abruptly changing the conversation's direction.  Percy shook his head and sighed.  

"I do everything in my power to free Harry.  I try to find proof of where the bodies might have been cremated and get samples of ash to take to Dumbledore.  I try to face each minute with the belief that Harry's alive, and that I still have a shot to try to make up for all that I've done to him.  I'll spend my life doing it if I have to," Percy swore.  Fred's eyes were hard as he stood up.  

"For someone who didn't care a whole lot for Harry before, you sure do now, don't you?  Here's one more for you, brother," Fred said, standing up to lean over him.  Percy flinched at the way he nearly hissed _Brother.  _

"I borrowed dad's Pensieve and saved out all the proof you refused to believe about what Harry's been going through.  I also extracted the attack on the Burrow.  If you're really in the mood for penance, watch it.  But know this…" Fred said, and Percy realized his brother had been carrying the Pensieve carefully in his hand, until now folded within his robes.  Suddenly Fred leaned forward so his face was close to Percy, close enough for Percy to smell the Pumpkin Juice on his breath.  "I love you, brother, but you nearly got us killed.  You have no idea what it was like holding George in my arms.  I swear, for a second I almost felt… alone.  As if he were already gone…" Fred said, his eyes glazed in memory.  Then focus returned as he turned his full gaze directly on Percy once more.  "I promise you no second chances.  I'll never trust *you* again."  And with that statement, Fred's eyes bore for a moment more into Percy's, then he turned and went upstairs.  _Merlin.__  He hates me.  _

Percy sat at the table, thoroughly shaken, as the last of the dirty dishes floated away from the dining table towards the kitchen.  A rag floated in to wipe down the table, but Percy glared at it, refusing to move his things.  He was grateful his parents hadn't come out from cleaning the dishes while Fred was there.  The dish rag hovered for a moment longer, then seemed to understand that Percy wasn't about to shuffle his stuff for it to do its job.  It turned around to return to the sink, leaving a dripping trail of warm soapy water in its wake.  Percy wasn't about to have water accidentally ruin the map Charlie had given him.  He wasn't taking any chances on anything ever again.

His dad pulled out a chair beside him, startling Percy as the chair groaned slightly when Arthur Weasley sat beside him.  "Oh, quit whining," he scolded the chair, but had a slight smile as he said it.  The dining room chairs had certainly seen more than their fair share of wear and tear lately.  With his teacup in hand, Arthur nodded at the map Charlie had provided, along with the scattered rolls of parchment Percy was going to use for his 'audit'.  The faintest flicker of sympathy crossed his father's face before it was schooled back into mild, innocent curiosity, but it was enough to let Percy know he'd heard what Fred said.  Thankfully he did not pursue it.

 "What do you think?  Pretty easy to read?" Arthur asked, gesturing at Charlie's map, and effectively breaking Percy's train of thought.  Charlie was notorious for the chicken scratches that he tried to pass of as handwriting.  Hogwarts professors yearly had complained long and loud about it.  Tonight, surprisingly, his writing was clear and precise, his drawing neatly detailed and labeled.  Voices began to echo in the back of Percy's mind, as they had intermittently since the Memory charms on him had been broken by Dumbledore.

"..._Harry, no one's going to give you Veritaserum.  You're too young…"  his own voice hollowly reassured the sick boy.  __Did you really even care?  Percy asked himself for the hundredth time as the memory of how Harry *looked* also came flooding back.  __How do you feel about Harry?  Why were you so anxious to believe bad of him?  Because Percy was jealous.  He realized too late that all those things he resented about Harry were proportional to issues he himself had__.  _

Harry was famous, rich, accepted.  On the surface, Harry had had everything Percy craved.  Independence.  Freedom.  Respect and admiration.  At some primal level, Percy even had to admit that Harry's love of Percy's family bothered him.  Ironic paradox to resent the boy for wanting to be a part of the family Percy had tried so hard to leave behind.  _Not that I was really thinking clearly at the time anyway.  Oh, for the luxury of having been under the Imperius Curse.  Percy would have given anything for the choices he'd made *not* to have been voluntary.  _

"…_Promise me you'll make sure they find out the truth.  Will you do that?..."  Harry's voice, so old and young at the same time, so fragile and tired, echoed in Percy's mind.  He'd promised Harry so cavalierly, never realizing how wrong he'd been.   He'd made a Wizard's Oath and not even meant it.  Since when did making oaths seem so… trivial?  _

"Percy, did you hear me?" Arthur Weasley asked, affecting that he was sipping absent-mindedly at his tea, but Percy hadn't missed the concern in his father's eyes.  _Oh.  Oops.  Pay attention, Percy.  "I can easily come with you.  It wouldn't take too much to justify my presence."  Percy shook his head adamantly.  _

"No, Fudge knows you sympathize with Dumbledore.  If he has anyone monitoring things…  We don't want to risk them covering up even more.  He thinks I'm neutralized.  I won't present a problem showing up, I'm sure of it," Percy said in his most reassuring voice.  In truth, he was terrified of *anything* that might tip Fudge off.  __

"Still, it would make me feel better if you weren't going there by yourself," his father replied, blowing into his teacup to cool it a bit.  Percy noticed his father's eyes taking in how Percy still rubbed at his temples persistently and the slight tremble in his hand as he brought his own blessed tea to his lips.  _Caffeine.__  Good.  His father had the disconcerting habit of using other people's moments of distraction to watch them closely; to judge for himself what he thought their condition was physically, or if he thought they were lying, or stressed.  Percy willed his hands to stop shaking, fearing his father had already noticed too much.  Arthur Weasley had been deeply displeased at Percy's insistence that he do this alone.  It had taken nearly an hour's worth of protest before Percy finally got his father to at least admit that Percy's arguments made sense.  _

 "What about showing up in the middle of the night like this?"  Arthur continued.  "Will that raise any alarms?"  Percy shook his head.  He'd tried to think of every angle, and thought he'd done a fair job of it.  _I'm nothing if not thorough._

"No.  Considering that all the expenses I'm going to flag in my 'audit' are from the night shift, I doubt anyone will be surprised,"  Percy explained.  He'd tried to dig up as many questionable expenses as he could, while still not mentioning the very ones that might alert Fudge as to what he was really looking for.

"When do you go?" Arthur asked him.  Percy smiled faintly as he gulped the last of his drink down.  It was a bit strong, the way he liked it, flavored with milk and a bit of honey.  _Thanks,__ mum.  I needed that.  Percy stood up, slipping the map inside his robe pocket.  Just in case.  _

"Now, actually.  I'll just collect my things and be off," Percy replied.  Arthur turned his head distractedly as Molly Weasley called for him from the kitchen.  He smiled faintly at Percy.  

"You be careful, son.  I know all those Ministry buildings have anti-Apparition wards, so plan your exits *before* you need them, alright?" Arthur said, and placed a hand on Percy's shoulder.  Percy nodded and patted his father's hand appreciatively.  

"No worries, Dad.  In and out.  I'll head straight to Hogwarts with the ash and let you know what we find out," Percy said with a smile, trying to sound confident and reassuring at the same time.  His father didn't appear fooled.  

"I'll be in the living room all night if you want to Fire Talk with me," Arthur said.  Molly's voice sounded again, calling Arthur to come into the kitchen.  "Well, I'd best go before she comes after me.  Need any help?" Arthur asked, watching as Percy gathered up the last of his parchments.  

"No, thanks.  Go on before you get in trouble.  I'll be fine," Percy joked lightly, and breathed a sigh of relief as his father finally left the room.  As he approached the fireplace, a voice sounded from the top of the stairwell.  

"Thought he'd never leave," the voice said humorously.  "For someone so unpopular, you appear to have a lot of people seeking you out."  It couldn't be Fred, Percy knew.  _Too friendly.__  George sat at the top of the stairs, just barely visible from the living room, peeking through the handrails, still in his pajamas.  Using the rail to pull himself up, George made his way slowly downstairs.  __At this rate I won't be there until morning, Percy thought.    _

"It's nice, though, having dad hover," Percy candidly admitted even as he watched his brother warily.  As George stepped off the last stair and into the living room, Percy saw the shadows under his brother's eyes.  Madam Pomfrey still fussed a bit when she checked up on him a day ago, a clear indicator in Percy's mind that George had been more hurt than his father had indicated.  

"I heard what Fred said earlier, Percy," George said, now standing directly in front him, his eyes intent.  "It's a harsh lesson you've learned.  I don't envy it," he said, shaking his head.  "I've thought about it, though.  For all our pranks, if we weren't so careful…  things could go *very* wrong.  I've always known that," George observed, his face solemn.  

"So why do you do it?" Percy asked curiously.  He'd never heard either of the twins admit that they were aware their pranks could hurt someone.  

"Because it's fun.  It's entertaining.  It's the best way to remind ourselves, and the world, that it's not just You Know Who, good vs. evil, careers, family and death.  It's *life*.  Dreams and aspirations are nice, but they aren't day to day.  Laughter is.  Living is," George said.  Percy knew his jaw was hanging open.  

"Where'd you learn this little gem?" Percy asked, trying to recover his composure.  A deep conversation about jokes with one of the twins?  

"Fred and I have always known it.  But we got a nice reminder right before the holidays," George replied.  

"And what was that?" Percy asked, intrigued.  

"Harry gave us his Triwizard Tournament winnings.  Said we could all use a few laughs," George replied.  Percy was stunned.  It had been the mystery of the holidays.  Where on earth had the twins suddenly come across so much money to purchase supplies for their joke business?  They owled out their pranks twice a day, 'filling owl orders' they cheerfully called it.  Arthur Weasley had finally confessed to Molly that he'd suspected they'd gotten money from World Quidditch Cup winnings, but no amount of threats from their mother had revealed the truth.  Percy cringed as George's words sunk in, then decided not to think about it *too* much.  He didn't know how much lower he could feel.  Or maybe he did, and that was the problem.  

"I'm not sure why I told you that...  I didn't mean to make you feel bad.  I know you don't need my help for that," George said, humor in his eyes.  "I guess I just wanted to let you know that we can make bad choices at any time.  I know you were trying to do what you thought was right.  And that you've learned your lesson.  I for one trust you, Percy.  This is one mistake I don't see you *ever* making again," he said and rested his hand on Percy's shoulder just as Arthur Weasley had done just minutes before.  

"This wasn't just one bad choice, George," Percy replied.  George nodded.  _You're letting me off too easy, George.  I almost got you killed, and you still trust me?  *I* don't trust me.  What's wrong with you?  _

"I know that.  And for your sake as much as Harry's, I hope this all turns out okay.  I…" George said, and Percy watched as George struggled for a moment, his eyes misting up as he undoubtedly thought about Harry, before pushing his own feelings aside to try to continue to reassure his brother.  Percy felt his throat constrict.  He knew what George wanted to say.  That he hoped Harry would survive.

"Me too," Percy whispered.  With all his heart.

"And don't worry about that lot.  I'll be working on them," George said, nodded his head back towards the stairs.  Percy smiled gratefully.  "Be careful," George said seriously.  Percy nodded and grabbed a handful of Floo powder.  

"I will.  Thanks, George," Percy said, the gratefulness swelling in his chest like a balloon.  *If*…  If Harry lived, survived intact somehow.  If Percy was able to prove what the Ministry was doing.  *If*...  He might just have a chance to redeem himself.  And as much as it mattered what George and the rest of his family felt about him, he'd come to realize that unless *he* could forgive himself, it was pointless.  "Dracontine Division!" Percy shouted and stepped into the flames. He didn't look back.  

***********************************************************************

Percy blinked in bewilderment as he looked around him.  This was the Dracontine Division?  He wasn't sure what he'd expected… he'd never imagined it would look shockingly similar to St. Mungo's.  _Peculiar.  He was standing at the end of a long, white empty hallway with only a wall and fireplace behind him.  There were no windows or doors visible, only empty wall space devoid of paintings or photos. Muggle fluorescent lights hummed obnoxiously above, and his boots echoed ominously on the shiny white tile floors as he eventually turned a corner and approached two guards posted by metal double doors.  As Percy stepped towards the two men, he pulled out his credentials parchment.  _

"Good evening, sir.  Visiting hours are over, and by appointment only," the man on Percy's left said.  He was a burly man, short but stocky.  He had a curiously large jaw, and his eyes appeared frank and no nonsense, albeit a shade squinty.  The man on Percy's right was much younger, perhaps only a couple of years older than Percy himself.  He had straight brown hair cut short and tight to the scalp.  Judging by the title on his nametag, he was also most likely the one in charge.  His brown eyes were intelligent, but appeared content to allow the burly man to continue.  _Not really motivated, then.  Good.    _

"I'm aware of that…  Mr. Nelson," Percy said, his eyes taking in the name on the man's robes.  

"Audit?" Barry Nelson, the burly man, squeaked as he read the parchment Percy had provided.  

Percy had long ago learned that no one was guilt free.  It proved to be Percy's greatest weapon.  The bygone Ministry days, when a man treated his job right, worked hard, and truly cared, were long gone.  Longevity used to be rewarded by perks.  Loyalty would be rewarded by security.  In its place had come the 'election era', as Percy perceived it.  Key positions filled by lackeys that changed hands when someone new was brought in.   Within the Ministry, it was referred to as the 'changing of the guard'.  Few had the mindset still that Percy had, up until recently, had.  Percy used to perceive that lack of passion towards their jobs as laziness and a pathetic lack of work ethic.  He looked down his nose at those who couldn't wait for the holidays, the weekends, the end of their shift.  What he didn't realize was that he'd let his job become his identity.  Yet another irony to add to so many, that the very thing he'd despised in others he should have been doing himself.  

For the most part, Percy had learned there were now basically two types of people within the Ministry; the 'old boys', and the rest of the world.  The 'old boys' retained their positions for decades, securing them through unique skill sets, remarkable networking abilities, gifted arse kissing, or combinations thereof.  The rest of the world knew they were disposable, and treated their job accordingly.  Quills were stolen without a thought.  Office expenses were ordered that never saw the candlelight of their desks.  It meant that if Percy looked hard enough, he was nearly guaranteed to be able to dig up dirt on whomever he desired, and *they* knew it.  

"Audit?" the younger man echoed.  Percy didn't permit himself to nod, he simply stood in front of the two men patiently.  It was the patience of authority… or so he hoped.  His confidence was going to be needed to carry him through this.  

"It's an odd time for an audit," the younger man observed, his eyes flickering over Percy's robes suspiciously.  Percy forced himself not to fidget, feeling almost like a schoolboy seeking approval before the two men.  _I'm here on business.  Nothing to question here.  If he'd known any hypnosis charms, he might have even used them at that moment just to insure he didn't get turned away.  Too much was riding on his success tonight._

"Mr…  Hanning," Percy said, reading the younger man's tag, and reached into his sack of parchments.  He fished around for a moment before pulling a scroll out.  "Excellent.  I'll require a meeting with you later, perhaps even tonight, regarding a department purchase you made three months ago, the seventeenth," Percy said, forcing an imperious inflection into his voice.  The younger man blanched.  

"Sir.  We weren't aware of an audit," the older man said, his voice raising a slight octave.  For such a stocky bloke, his voice certainly warbled a lot.  

"Precisely," Percy replied, and didn't elaborate.  He remained silent and watched the two men in front of him fidget uncomfortably.  _Professor Snape, if you could see me now.  Snape's daunting persona in Potions not so long ago had given Percy a good template for intimidation._

"Will you be needing a guide?" the younger man asked after an uncomfortable pause.  Percy scrutinized him closely.  

"A map will suffice," Percy replied, deciding that a more 'informed' map might be a good idea.  Not that he questioned Charlie… just his map making abilities.  _Please don't insist on an escort.  The younger guard reached behind him into a row of folded parchments placed neatly into wooden slots on a desk behind him.  At a cursory glance, the map looked splendidly detailed.  __Good job, Percy.  I'm improvising.  Not freezing up.  Not bad._

"I'll be summoning Mr. Ferguson Schriver tonight, I suspect.  I'm assuming he's not on vacation?" Percy asked.  The older guard's adam's apple bobbed nervously before he shook his head.  

"No sir.  He's here tonight," the stocky man replied.  Percy nodded.  The man's voice was breaking all over the place like an adolescent boy's.  It would have been amusing if Percy weren't so nervous.  

"Excellent," Percy replied.  

"You're here now because there are no Muggles on shift, aren't you?" Hanning, the younger man and the one in charge, abruptly asked.  _What is he talking about?  Is this a ploy?  I don't think so.  It's too specific.  Go with it.  Percy nodded.  _

"Correct," Percy replied.  _Muggles?__  Why would there be Muggles here?_

"I wondered why you were wearing robes.  Not the way to blend in here.  So…  you've got audit spells you perform?" Hanning asked nervously.  

Percy suppressed both his curiosity and the manic giggle he felt nervously rising into his throat.  _Of course I'd wear robes.  Merlin.  It looks like arriving in the dead of night was actually the best thing I could have done.  This could have been a disaster, if I was supposed to be wearing Muggle clothes.  _

Mentioning that he'd want to speak with Hanning later appeared to have shaken him up more than he'd originally let on.  Obviously the man knew next to nothing about audits and felt the need to try to fish for more information.  Both things worked nicely to Percy's advantage.  _So you think I came at night so I could perform magic?  Is no magic performed during the day, then?  While Muggles are present?  This isn't making any sense.  _

Percy raised an eyebrow in response to the man's query.  This was definitely a trait Professor Snape had inadvertently taught him.  It allowed for someone to feel like they've been given an answer, when in reality they hadn't been.  There was neither affirmation nor denial.  Nothing that could be tied back to him under Veritaserum, should the need arise.  Percy forced the memories down that threatened to surface.  _Don't think about Harry right now.  Don't get distracted.  _

"Well, sir.  We won't take any more of your time," the stocky guard said and stepped aside.  Several *big* steps.  Hanning followed suit, and Percy nodded his head to both men gratefully as he quickly strode past them towards the metal doors that now began to open of their own accord, his heart in his throat.  _Not bad.  I'll make a good spy yet.  Yes…  this is something I can do…  Of course, I had no idea I had it in me.  _

With this largest hurdle overcome, Percy knew he was practically guaranteed to be left alone to wander the halls unaccosted.  _Perks of the job.  The night supervisor would steer clear of Percy for his entire visit, hoping the 'Out of sight, out of mind' adage proved true, especially since Percy had already specifically asked for the man.  No doubt the guards would be reporting *that* bit of news.  In fact, it was most likely that everyone on shift would now avoid him, as no one wanted to voluntarily put themselves within an auditor's sights for fear of raising their ire… or their curiosity.  Percy knew that as long as he was quickly in and out he would be unimpeded.  Hopefully, this would also allow him to try to make sense out of what he'd learned so far.   _

_Why would Muggles work here?  I guess that explains a guarded hallway with only a fireplace at the end. To keep Muggles from stumbling onto the Floo Network.  __But why?__  To my knowledge, the only Ministry divisions that work directly with Muggles are under the Department of Accidental Magic Reversal, not the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.  It wasn't making any sense, yet clearly this Division was using Muggle electricity, and Muggle made materials such as that peculiar *playstick* they seemed so fond of.  _

Percy allowed his feet to carry him forward, not worrying quite yet about where he was going as he marveled at the map in his hands.  Charlie's drawing had shown a rectangular building with three different departments.  The map he'd gotten from the guards showed nine clearly marked divisions in a square shaped building.  

_Great.__  Charlie can't *draw* or write.  This map doesn't show a rectangle.  What's he talking about?  Percy wondered as he continued to stare at the legend on the map.  Strange names, undoubtedly Muggle terms, such as Information Technology and the Server Room were listed.  __Do servants live there?  Data Center Operations...  __Sounds important.__  A series of hallways that ultimately also connected in a square were in the building's interior.  As Percy continued to examine the color coded sections indicating all the offices for each department, he began to feel daunted.  _

Perhaps Hermione would be a good one to consult if he couldn't find what he was looking for quickly.  Percy was all too painfully aware of how little time he had before he drew suspicions.  _Focus.  Alright.  The cafeteria and Engineering were in the center sections.  All the other departments were on the outside perimeters of the hallways.  __Good to know this place isn't a labyrinth.  This makes it easier to go where I need.  But where would Dragon Research even be *done* here?  This is very strange.  Percy fought the alarm that was beginning to creep in along his spine.  Okay.  __Look at the Department names again.  Something should give you a hint._

Percy was aware of the Muggle 'comb pewter' craze sweeping Europe and that the 'inner net' was supposed to change the world...  _Is that what some of these weird names are about?  Okay, let's eliminate the simple ones and see what's left.  It's not like I have too many places to check once I cross off the obvious ones.  Executive Briefing Room.  __Easy.__ Front lobby, cafeteria, Sales and Customer Service.  __I've got what these are.  Now where on earth would I find ashes?  Research and Development.  __That one sounds like a likely candidate.  I don't think it would be Engineering… but I'm not sure what Engineering is.  Security was a good one to avoid.  Human Resources, Account Receivables…  __well__, here's where I'm *supposed* to go.  _

_Now what's this?  _

Percy frowned and nearly dropped the map in surprise.  Abruptly, the lines and colored sections wavered and shifted before his eyes.  A side of the map that had been previously filled with office numbers and employee names was now an entirely new section of the building, with three more colored sections indicating additional departments.  _And now the building *is* rectangular.  Percy knew he'd already looked over the map thoroughly before it had changed.  It wasn't as if he'd missed it before.  __Wizard triggers!  Percy realized that the maps were charmed to reveal certain additional sections when exposed to magic.  Muggles would never see it.  _

So Charlie was right after all.  _Sorry for doubting you, Percy silently apologized with a faint smile.  The new section held rooms with even more curious names.  J Line?  __What on earth is that?  The Cage?  __Okay…  That probably sounds a bit more appropriate.  The Fish Bowl?  __These have to be nicknames, don't they?  Burn In.  __That's got to be it.  Percy felt his pulse quicken at the thought.  __Unfortunately, it appears this new section is on the other side of the building furthest from Accounting.  And with only one fireplace that I can Floo from…  Should I just go straight to the Wizarding Section and see what I can see, or hit Accounting first?  Percy watched as the door marked Accounts Receivable came into view.  He'd been heading towards it the entire time he'd been examining the map.  Now that he was nearly there, it was time to decide._

_Now or never, Percy.__  What are you going to do?  All Ministry buildings were held under heavy Anti Apparition wards except in a few designated and tightly monitored areas.  He knew that with only the one central square section of hallways, he didn't stand a chance of escape if anyone really wanted to detain him.  __How much time should I even spend in the Accounting records?  Should I try to find the ash first, then go to Payables and Receivables for a while?  I should have thought this part through more.  He was so prepared to justify his audit that Percy had practically prepared for one.  Now that he was actually in the building though…  it seemed like a waste of precious time to actually spend any more than he had to doing *anything* other than looking for the evidence he needed to get Harry released.  __Think of it this way.  The longer you're here, the greater your chance of getting caught.  _Yes, that does make sense, doesn't it?__

The Accounts Receivable office came and went as Percy set his mouth in determination and passed it by.  His footsteps were thankfully the only sounds he could hear.  _I'm committed now.  Okay.  The Cage and Burn In both sound like likely candidates.  They're right beside each other, but it looks like I'll have to go through The Fish Bowl to get to either room.  _

There weren't any posters or motivational mottos on any of the hallway walls.  No billboards with employee's items for sale.  There were no bulletin boards with company news or announcements.  No torches or candles, paintings or photos.  The theme for the Dracontine Division certainly seemed to be *white*.  White walls, white ceilings with tiny little holes in them, and shiny white tile floors that reflected the light fixtures from above.  

As sterile and unlived in as it seemed, the place in fact felt *more* like a hospital than St. Mungo's.  The floors were unscuffed and the walls unblemished.  The only thing to remind Percy that he wasn't walking through an illusion were the occasional fluorescent tubes that flickered a half light, almost but not quite burnt out, strobing the hallway annoyingly in front of him.  

The doors to the cafeteria had small square windows in them that Percy peeked through as he passed by.  They revealed a darkened room lit with Muggle vending machines (he'd seen those at the train station when he went to Hogwarts, so he already knew what they were).  _No one is at lunch or on break, then.  Good.  Or would it be dinner?  Hmm.  Maybe breakfast, at this time of night, Percy thought idly.  _

The entire place was creeping him out.  Most Ministry offices he'd been in were cluttered with parchments and overflowing desks.  Harried employees rushed about with anxious expressions and nervous hands.  Magic was prevalent in so much of a wizard's life that until Percy had encountered an office *without* it, he'd never realized how integral magic was.  

There were file cabinets that came to your desk when you called and owls coming and going at all hours of the day and night.  Messenger Spells constantly darted around the building.  Enchanted windows allowed in more light and better views, and frequent fireplaces allowed for Fire Talking.  Charmed quills were a staple to most offices, required to take dictation.  These were all simple things Percy used every day that now seemed oddly *missing*.  

The Dracontine Division contained none of this.  And considering how empty it currently was, with the guards being the only people Percy had encountered so far, he couldn't quite imagine *why* it was necessary to have Muggles working there at all.  _This is about Dragon Fire research, and the gland dragons use to make it.  What business is it of Muggles?  Well, one mystery at a time, Percy.  For now, let's focus on checking out the Wizarding Departments on the map.  Percy's steps faltered for a moment as he thought of something else.___

_Do I need to come up with a reason for looking around?  That was an appalling thought.  If someone were to confront him, he realized it would be better to have an excuse handy to justify his midnight stroll.  __What were some of the expenses I flagged?  And what would be good candidates that I'd *need* to go on this side of the building to validate?  Percy began to leaf through the parchments in the sack he carried with him as he continued on his way.  _

Excessive Sleeping Draught potions and large quantities of livestock were definitely good candidates for an audit flag, despite the Mad Cow and Foot and Mouth Disease hysteria that had swept through Europe and lowered livestock prices to all time lows.  Amazingly enough even the Daily Prophet had reported on that.  

_So I'll question livestock use and utilization, especially considering how *much* livestock they go through.  __Could the livestock be kept in The Cage?  Is it for feeding or for testing purposes?  Okay.  Well, if anyone asks why I'm going where I'm going, at least I've got a reason.  The tension he had felt building in his neck eased just a little, although his palms persisted in sweating furiously.  _

Percy looked from the map to the wall ahead of him.  _Uh oh.__  No door.  But the map shows one.  Could it be charmed?  Percy reached out his hand to feel the wall where the hallway turned a sharp ninety degrees.  It felt flat.  _

_I'll bet this has got Muggle Repelling Charms on it.  It's got to be right here.  Percy muttered a revealing charm, unsurprised at the door that appeared in front of him.  He used an unlocking spell and watched the jet of sparks shoot onto the door handle that was now helpfully swinging forward.  He stepped through without hesitation, hoping if anyone were watching they would get the impression that Percy looked like he knew where he was going.  _

He wasn't sure what he expected, but the room he stepped into took him completely by surprise.  It had stadium seats lined up in rows with small isles in between them, reminiscent of a Muggle movie theatre he'd once seen a picture of.  The room itself was sloped, so that Percy stood at the top looking downwards.  It gently rolled downhill so that each seat would not be blocked by person sitting in the chair in front of it.   _Stadium seating, like for Quidditch matches.__  A room for spectators.  _

But the shock Percy felt shoot through his fingers and toes had nothing to do with the room he was in, but rather what the giant windows below him revealed:  Two rooms, starkly illuminated.  One was empty save for scorch and burn marks, the glass in some places was only barely opaque, with a thick black soot that coated the bottom of the floor.  The walls were mostly grey with streaks of charcoal in random places.  _Is that carbon?  Charlie had gotten a great deal of enjoyment describing just *what* kind of residue Percy would be looking for._

And although the empty dirty room was the one Percy had been seeking, it was the other room that grabbed his attention.  It was the room labeled 'The Cage', and contained a dragon.  In fact, it was the most pathetic, misshapen Hungarian Horntail Percy had ever seen.  The black scales that adorned its body were dull and flaky, curling up and around other scales like mottled snakeskin unable to shed.  Instead of bronze horns, there were tiny bronze stubs.  _Do they trim the horns, or did they cut them off completely?  The shape of the skull, slightly large in proportion to the eyes, indicated it was a male.  __Wow, Charlie, I had no idea this knowledge would stick.  Percy had tried *not* to absorb most of what his older brother had enthusiastically tried to teach him as a child about dragons, and was surprised to find he still remembered quite a bit.  Enough, at least, to know what he was looking at was all wrong._

The most pathetic part of the dragon were his wings and limbs.  His body was all chest cavity and stomach, with only the tiniest, malformed legs that couldn't even touch the floor.   Its wings, shrunken with disuse and perpetual captivity, were scrawny, paper thin and nearly transparent.  They were more reminiscent of bat wings than of those of a dragon, and only a fraction of the size a dragon's wings should be.  

Around the dragon's neck was a giant collar with a long metal chain attached to the floor.  The room wasn't large enough for the dragon to maneuver, forcing him to remain on his enormous belly, with his limbs and wings dangling uselessly high above the ground.  The only way the dragon appeared to be able to move at all were using its neck and tail for leverage, adjusting slightly from side to side.  

A loud sound, similar to dry parchment scraping against stone, made Percy realize the dragon was looking right at him, his yellow eyes watching Percy intently as the dragon shifted his head to get a better look.  The neck chain clinked faintly.  _Merlin.  A small chute, large enough for the dragon to fit his snout through, connected him to the empty scorched room.  Suddenly all the obscure titles made sense.  'The Fish Bowl' was where they watched incinerations.  'The Cage' was where they kept the poor dragon.  And 'Burn In'…  well, the black soot on the floor in *that* room was exactly what Percy had been looking for.  _

Percy crossed through the Fish Bowl to the door on the other side, set at an angle that indicated it didn't go directly into either room.    The door wasn't locked.  

The room Percy stepped into appeared to be the size of a decent sized closet, with a door going directly into 'Burn In'.  Two lights, one that was green and unlit, and one that was red and lit, were above it.  _That's easy enough to deduce.  The light's used to make sure it's safe to go into the room first.  So they must have to secure the dragon, or do they close the chute between the two rooms?  So how was he supposed to secure the dragon?  Obviously, whoever was about to enter the 'Burn In' Room had to wait to be told it was safe.  _

There was nothing in 'The Fish Bowl' that looked like a lever.  Nothing to indicate a way to close the chute, or lock down the chain around the dragon's neck so he couldn't fit his snout through and breathe fire.  Looking at the map, Percy didn't see anything obvious there, either.  _You're running out of time.  What if you just walk in and out?  You've seen dragons shoot fire before.  They generally need to take a deep breath first.  Leave the door open behind you and rush to take the samples.  The dragon doesn't appear to be angry, and that's *usually* when they breathe fire.  It's worth the risk.  With each moment that passed, Percy felt more and more exposed, and knew the likelihood of getting caught increased.  _

_Okay.  In and out.  Open the door, get the ash, and get out of here.  Percy's hand reached out to the door handle.  It was locked.  Percy nearly laughed.  Of course it would be locked.  It wasn't safe to go in yet.  "Alohamora," Percy whispered, and the door opened easily.  Percy's heart was pounding so heavily in his chest that he swore it was making him breathless.  __Go!  _

He stepped into the room, and froze as he realized he had a direct view of the chute leading to the dragon's cage.  And into two yellow eyes, with catlike pupils, staring directly at him.  Percy paused, waiting for a reaction.  Any reaction.  The dragon blinked.  

Percy wanted more than anything to run, but knew he couldn't.  _See.  The dragon is just watching you.  It's not like he's got a lot else going on in his life.  Get moving!  Percy's mouth was now completely dry as he forced his feet forward again.  Quickly, but using fluid motions, afraid he'd startle the dragon, he kneeled and began to scoop ash into a tiny box populated with multiple pockets his father had given him.  Each compartment had a separate lid to keep samples isolated.  Pressing the ash into the first section, Percy closed that lid and opened another one, then walked briskly to another location._

*Shuffffffff*

The air around Percy grew moist and warm for a second.  He froze.  Was the dragon taking a deep breath?  Percy looked into his eyes.  The head hadn't moved or reared back.  The dragon didn't appear poised to extend much effort.  Instead, he remained right at the chute entrance, watching Percy's hands intently.  In fact, although there was no facial expressions or any behavior to justify the thought, Percy could have sworn the dragon was curious what he was doing.

*Shuffffa* *sniff* *shufffffffff* *phhhhofffff* 

_Merlin.__  So was *that* a deep breath?  Percy watched the dragon intently, who was watching him right back.  He had quirked his large head to one side and appeared to be trying to take a bigger whiff of Percy.  __So can dragons smell fear like some of those animals in Hagrid's class could?  Will *that* set him off?  _

The room was already hot, but the slightly sulfurous smell of the dragon's breath was beginning to make Percy queasy.  Thankfully, the whole time Percy had been watching the dragon nervously, he hadn't stopped moving, and soon he was nearly done filling the compartments.  _There.  Another one filled.  One more to go.  Percy dared to walk a little further into the room, praying for his luck to hold.  The sound of a chain rattling, and something which Percy could only compare to fingernails scratching skin, indicated that the dragon had turned his body a little to keep Percy visible.   _

Percy glanced over at the dragon, who blinked again and exhaled gently.  Warm air once more washed over him.  Percy smiled feebly.  _Nice Dragon.  Glancing around for one last area to gather ash from, Percy eyed the room warily.  __One more…  _

He dared now to walk closer to the chute, moving slower as he approached.  He kept his hands in front of him to show he wasn't hiding anything.  He was now so close he could see the dragon's eyelashes.  _I didn't know dragons had eyelashes.  Wouldn't they singe in a good stiff breeze if he'd breathed fire against the wind?  Slowly kneeling, Percy felt a wave of nausea roll over him, nearly giving him vertigo, as the ash he scooped into the box stuck to his sweaty hands.  _

He shuddered.  With the last compartment filled, Percy snapped it gently shut and began to back away.  Resisting the urge to wipe his hands on his clothes, he decided he could have done *without* thinking about what the ash *was* until he had a chance to take a shower.  _You knew from the beginning what you suspected it was.  Percy's eye began to twitch uncontrollably as he tried to scold the rising panic attack back into stillness.  _

He wished he hadn't noticed the ash sticking to his sweaty palms and momentarily flashed to the faces plastered on the front page of the Daily Prophet.  _"Do you know where these people are?  Does anyone know what's happened?" The caption had read__.  I do.  They're on my hands, Percy thought, looking at his filthy, smudged palms__.  Percy abruptly took several deep breaths, trying to quell a hysterical giggle that threatened to break the silence of the room__.  _

_Quit thinking about it.  Harmless ash, really.  Nothing to worry about.  Now that Percy was noticing, he realized he was completely soaked with sweat.  __Nerves.__  So maybe I don't make such a good spy.  Resisting the urge to wipe his face on his robes, Percy gingerly unstuck his robes from his back.  They pulled away with a sickly suctioning sound._

Percy took one final look at the dragon as he slowly backed up until he stood once more on the threshold of 'Burn In'.  The Hungarian Horntail had shown no aggressive tendencies at all, for which he was deeply grateful.   In fact, the dragon had seemed positively harmless in his curiosity.  

"Thank you," Percy said softly into the room.  The dragon's eyes widened and he abruptly pulled his head away from the chute.  Percy shut the door quickly, standing once again in the staging room.  The green light that had automatically turned on when he'd initially forced the door open once again switched to red.  He couldn't hear anything, but the door handle Percy still had his hand on abruptly became unbearably hot.  Releasing it, Percy nearly blacked out for a moment as he comprehended what had just happened.  The dragon had breathed fire.

********************************************************************

The two guards had been brimming with relief as Percy left, first for a stop at the Ministry, then on to Hogwarts.  It certainly wouldn't have done the cause any good if Percy had simply headed straight for Hogsmeade without any subterfuge.    He'd spelled himself and his robes clean, but still couldn't seem to stop rubbing his hands on his thighs, as if he could still feel the grime and sweat.  

Percy presently sat in Dumbledore's office for the first time in his life, with a teacup in hand that trembled loudly in the stillness of the room, save the crackling of the fire and the gentle snores of the paintings behind the Headmaster's desk.   Dumbledore smiled softly and offered Percy a candy.  The Headmaster looked older than Percy had ever seen him look before.  _Has he always been this old and I just never noticed it?  Or is he simply tired?  Percy accepted the dish numbly, knowing his nerves were shot, and popped it in his mouth without even looking to see what it was.  __A lemon drop.  His trembling hands seemed to still a little, and even his headache eased mercifully.  __Maybe I should eat candy more often.  Looking at the empty golden perch besides Dumbledore's desk, Percy realized that must be where Fawkes, the Phoenix Ron had talked about, normally stayed.  __What's the delay?  I've got the ash…  Why am I having tea? Shouldn't we be testing this?_

"Professor Snape will be able to see us momentarily, Mr. Weasley.  He had some previous business to attend to," Dumbledore said as if he'd read Percy's thoughts.  On cue, Professor Snape's face appeared in the fireplace.  He looked awful…  even more so than he usually did.

"Headmaster…" Snape began, his normally deep, sinister voice oddly scratchy.   Dumbledore stood and nodded his head to Percy, who set aside his tea and stood as well.  He was feeling remarkably better, all things considered, and cast a suspicious eye towards the candy dish.  

"We'll Floo, Severus.  It's faster," Dumbledore said, and Percy realized the Headmaster must be even more anxious than he was.  _Good.  Professor Snape's head obligingly disappeared from the fireplace, and Percy followed Dumbledore through.  _

He'd never seen Professor Snape's private quarters before.  _Shouldn't it be silver and green?  It wasn't, which shocked Percy.  He'd always expected even Snape's socks to shout House pride.  Instead, it was very… lived in…  professorial, even.  Books were scattered everywhere, with little slips of parchment sticking out, clear indicators that the books weren't just for show.  _

There were ample chairs and smaller sofas, set into intimate little reading nooks with small coffee tables and footstools.  The stone walls and floors weren't imposing, but rather… appropriate.  Tapestries and rugs covered much that was exposed, so much so that if it weren't for the fact that there were *no* windows, the room could just as easily have been in Gryffindor Tower.  Cupboards and shelves were filled with bottles and jars, the only real testament to what Professor Snape's profession of choice was.  

Madam Pomfrey was standing beside the Potions Master, who was sitting at a large cluttered writing desk with a space cleared in the center.  _Hovering, actually.__  The scowl of disapproval on her face clearly indicated what had gone on before the Headmaster and Percy's arrival, and that Snape was ignoring whatever she'd been trying to suggest.  _

Abruptly, Percy understood why she was hovering, as he took the first good look he'd had at his former professor in quite a while.  Professor Snape's face was chalky white and covered with a thin sheen of sweat.  His hair, normally draped around his face like a curtain, was combed back so that it was completely off his face.  _I think it's wet because of sweat, not because he's had a shower._  Several steaming goblets sat before him, untouched.  He looked much thinner than Percy ever remembered him being, and the planes of his face were far more pronounced within the shadows of the candlelight.  His breath seemed to rattle in his chest a little, like he had a cold.  

"So.  The prodigal son returns," Snape quipped.  Percy flinched, but forced himself to look into those burning black eyes as he handed his former professor the ash samples.  

"Severus," Dumbledore interrupted, his voice holding a faint note of warning.  The Potions Master looked at Dumbledore for a moment, and some sort of unspoken communication seemed to flow between them.  

"Headmaster, surely his presence isn't necessary," Snape said while nodding his head towards Percy.  Percy could have hugged Madam Pomfrey for the flash of sympathy that flitted across her face.  "I've had enough histrionics for one day," he observed.

"I need him here to take the results to his father once you're finished," Dumbledore replied.  "And I suspect Mr. Weasley here is not likely to suffer from any… histrionics."  Percy nodded his head in agreement, but dared not say a word.  Silence was the least likely way to irritate the Potions Master.  He'd learned that a long time ago.

"Ah.  Well, it's always nice to see how you keep the feeble minded feeling useful," Professor Snape observed, and Percy felt his jaw drop in shock.  _What?_

"I beg your pardon, Professor…" Percy began, still stinging from the accusation.  He may have been a lot of things, but he was never stupid.  Not brilliant, certainly… but not an idiot either.  _Are you so sure?  _

"Spare me, Mr. Weasley.  Keep your mouth shut and perhaps you won't need to be reminded just *why* you're here," Professor Snape snapped.  Percy felt the waves of anger and… _is it hatred?...radiate off the Potions Master…  Not that Snape had ever *liked* Percy…  but he'd certainly never been deliberately cruel to him before.  At least not unless Percy had *really* screwed up a potion.  _

"Severus…" Dumbledore said gently, and Percy watched in surprise as Snape suddenly seemed to deflate.  The Headmaster's tone wasn't as much scolding as it was… desperate.  _Time's running out, and we all know it.  Even Snape.  The Potions Master nodded as if defeated, then reached out for a bulky cloth tied in the center, set at the far corner of his desk.  His robes slipped further towards his elbow on his right arm, revealing a bloody bandage that appeared to be wrapped around the length of the man's forearm.  __That looks painful.  _Where did he get that?__

On the desk before him, Snape rolled out an unwritten scroll that ran the length of his desk, and pulled the bulky piece of cloth towards him.  As he unwrapped it, droppers of all shapes and varieties became visible, the glass tinkling gently in the quiet room.  Some were of clear glass, and others colored in rainbow hues: red, green, blue, purple…  even black and an amber hue.  Some were the size of turkey basters, and others were small enough that whatever was squeezed out couldn't be more than the size of the head of a needle.  Snape reached out to pull one of the steaming goblets towards him with trembling hands, but Madam Pomfrey was faster.  

"Let me, Professor," she said quickly, snatching it out of his fingers, and Percy realized Snape may not have had the strength to hold it properly.  He grimaced in annoyance, then raised an eyebrow as if admitting it was probably a better idea for her to handle the goblet anyway, lest he spill it.  

"Thank you," Snape said, though he didn't quite sound it.  Percy had never heard his voice like that before: scratchy and hoarse, as if from screaming too much.  _Merlin.__  What a thought.  Percy, your imagination is running away with you.  Why would a Potions Master be screaming?  Professor Snape pulled a pen drawer in the desk open and extracted a set of nine tiny silver spoons.  He placed them out neatly beside the cloth of droppers and began to slowly open the ash samples.  _

Percy felt his breath hitch as once more he realized just *what* he'd brought back.  It would be the moment of truth for the Ministry, and bitterly Percy wished it would fold like a house of cards under the weight of its own bureaucracy and willful blindness.  

Gingerly, Professor Snape took a teaspoon and scooped out a sampling from one of the chambers of ash.  Dumbledore raised his wand and Snape's eyes narrowed for a moment before he nodded in approval at the Hogwarts seal that appeared with the swish on the blank scroll before him.  Dumbledore's seal of authenticity.  Percy frowned.  He absolutely no idea what they were doing.

"What do you expect to learn with this?" Madam Pomfrey asked, then glanced at Percy's bewildered expression.  She was clearly intrigued as to what Snape was doing.  "The professor is using a Revealo Scroll," she explained to Percy.  "It's designed to break down any substance into its most basic elements.  I'm not clear what it will do with the ash, though…" she said, her sentence a not-so-subtle push to get Snape to explain.  Dumbledore's eyes flitted from Madam Pomfrey to Snape and back again.  

"I've modified the spell," the Potions Master growled, his tone hinting that *that* was the most obvious thing in the world and that he'd had to yet again explain himself to dullards.  He gingerly pulled a dropper from the cloth satchel and dipped it in the steaming goblet.  Percy watched, fascinated, as Snape, with trembling hands, dropped the potion onto the ash.  

The potion changed color the moment it hit the ash, from grayish green to inky black.  _Ink.__  It *is* ink, isn't it?  At least, it certainly looks like it.  The drops of potion created a tiny crater in the ash's center from which more potion/ink began to ooze out.  Percy watched, fascinated, as far more potion spewed forth from the pile of ash than the dropper had placed into it.  In fact, it looked oddly like an erupting volcano; the gentle kind where magma oozed over the sides and flooded the lands below it.  _

The ink slid over the scroll in all directions like tiny snakes, leaving an abundance of thin trails behind.  Percy held his breath in shock as he realized that the curls and squiggles were shortly turning into what looked like words.  

"97% of a corpse's bodyweight is converted into gases upon cremation," Snape said aloud, although it seemed as if he were speaking to himself more than anyone else in the room.  "Oxygen, hydrogen, carbon, nitrogen…  all are lost.  What remains, the 3% left, is generally granulated lime… bone fragments, mostly.  No living organisms remain.  But human bone fragments aren't enough.  The trick is to tie it to our victims…" Here Snape paused to look at Dumbledore.  _Our?__  That's an odd turn of phrase.  _Dumbledore was watching the Potions Master with a solemn face.  Percy wasn't sure what he read there, but he seemed… weary and sad.  

"I've been performing tracer spells from all those on the Missing Wizards and Witches list and embedding them onto the scrolls.  The potion is designed to take the components from the ash, and highlight all the names contained therein," he explained, and Percy watched in horror as names had indeed begun to reveal themselves.

Esther Ipswich, Herman Stoneleight, Hazel Crowhurst, Walter Rugby, Arvel Barnes, Lawrence Kenilworth, Clifford Brailes, Bernice Coombe…  Name after name began to write itself from within the scroll.  Each was a different signature, as if the dead witches or wizards had stepped up to sign the scroll themselves.  Some were elegant and elaborate inscriptions, others were shaky and simple block letters…  _Children's writing__…  _Percy felt his tremors from earlier begin anew and his skin begin to prickle and go slightly numb.  _No histrionics...  No histrionics, _Percy mumbled to himself until he was better under control of his emotions.  Dumbledore's eyes lit up at the names that filled up the scroll, an odd combination of victory and grim determination.  

"This is it, isn't it?" Percy asked, needing the validation said aloud.  _Please let this be it.  Please let this be enough.  _

"This is it," Dumbledore confirmed.  "Severus, do you have other scrolls embedded with the tracker spells?" he asked as he strode briskly to Snape's fireplace, all fatigue seemingly gone.  

"Of course," Snape replied.  

"Arthur, we have confirmation.  I'm going to send Percy to you with the evidence," the Headmaster said as Percy's father's head appeared in the fire.  Arthur smiled widely when he saw Percy, relief evident in his features even as he nodded attentively to what Dumbledore said.  

"Certainly, Headmaster.  Do you still want *all* the pieces in play?" Arthur asked cryptically.  Dumbledore nodded, his hat bobbing precariously.  

"Yes…  All of them.  And Arthur…  the worst is about to come to pass," he said.  Percy watched as his father's face paled and his eyes widened.  

"No!  So soon?  Will they make it in time?  Do you need…?" Arthur asked, his voice sounding rough and strained with emotion.  _What are they talking about?  What's going on?_

"Yes, I do.  I'll need all of them.  As for whether it's in time or not, I truly do not know.  But the sooner you play your part, the better.  Be careful, Arthur.  I do not need to remind you how important what you do today is," Dumbledore's voice was intense and powerful.  

Gone was the cheery Headmaster.  In his place was the man who defeated Grindelwald, who already had plans and contingency plans in place, and was activating them now.  _If anyone can free Harry, it's him, Percy realized… and although he'd already known that… seeing Dumbledore as he was now: capable, commanding, strategic, and in control…  gave Percy more hope than he'd had in weeks.  _

Snape handed Percy the scroll, which he realized with a start was now almost completely covered with names.  Barely any part of the parchment remained unsigned.  The Potions Master spelled the ink dry and rolled it carefully up, muttering a waterproof and anti-tearing charm as well before actually placing it in Percy's hands.  The message was clear.  _Don't screw this up.  _Dumbledore gently steered Percy to the fireplace and lifted the lid from the Floo powder container.  

"You've done well, Mr. Weasley.  Thank you…  I hope you'll have the opportunity to enjoy witnessing first hand the fruits of your labor," he said enigmatically, even as he turned back to the sickly Potions Master and Madam Pomfrey.  Already she was trying to get Professor Snape to drink something, and his scowl of annoyance made Percy smile as he called out for home.  _Home.__  I've done my part.  He nearly laughed aloud as he realized__, Percy, old chap…  I think you're officially out of a job.  Thank Merlin._

**TBC…**

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**Author's Notes**:  _Thank you so much to everyone who wished my mother well.  She's doing just fine and recovering nicely.  I appreciate all the nice thoughts and sentiments, and hope you've enjoyed the chapter.  I promise to do my best to get the next one to you sooner.  I have new incentive now…  My fiancé is nearly done with the 4th book and will be reading my story once he's done.  Yikes!  Once my panic attack finishes, I'll jump right into Chapter 33.  8-)   _

_The rest, as they say, are responses and Author babble.  Take what you like and ignore the rest. g_

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_darkphoenix (Not sure yet.  Don't want to reveal too much. g  Certainly more of that.  Hmm, hadn't thought of that aspect, but certainly see it.  Good idea!); __psychochick (G I really appreciate that.  I think that's why I started this.  I wanted *more* HP, and JKR wasn't giving it! g  Glad I've kept you guessing.  Hope I continue to do so); __Green Eyed Knight (Nope, still here), __ratgirl (as Peter was an Animagus as well, could he have been familiar with what Sirius would and would not notice?  Just a thought.); __Silverwolf (It most certainly is!  And unfortunately I'll be doing it again soon.  Yuck!  8-)  He transformed once, with a *lot* of help from Severus, but no, he won't be able to do it again.); __Kouji (Not sure.  Not telling. g); __LaminaCourt (Oh yes.  Loved it.  Dying for Book 5!); __Anonymous (working on that…); __WeasleyTinsLover1112; __Starlette__ (It *is* addictive, isn't it? Thanks!); __Mistri; *__~Ice~* (Thanks!); __Laterose (I hope the 'long arduous description thing isn't *too* tedius! g); __x-woman (I'm shooting for next chapter.  As for the rest, you'll have to wait and see!); __leaf (I *very* much appreciate that!  Thanks!  I'm sooo glad you're posting.  Congratulations!  And I *love* being on Favorites.  Thanks!); __Anti Pasta (Hmmm…  Not soon.  Too much to do, you see!  g);  __Lucerito__-del-alba (Going as fast as I can.  As for the cliffies…  They just happen! Honest!  I certainly don't set out to do them.); __Fleur (Not too many realized the ramifications of that, huh?  g  Hmm.  Maybe that's male bonding…  backs away from the keyboard.  Kidding!); __kapies (I'm going as fast as I can.  Really!); __Sakura Blossom (Glad you like it.  Do porcupines *have* friends?  I wonder if it's in Snape's nature.  I'll do my best to stay true.  Lots still happening, though.  As for the plot hole… Nope, it's only been a couple of weeks.  Harry wouldn't last that long in Azkaban, I don't think.); __Sherylyn (Yep, I think that's why, too.  It's also what's so cool about the books.  They grow in maturity as he does.  It's impressive as heck!); __PurePsychicEspeon (I agree.  Those reviewers were crackheads!); __sk8reagle; __Von (Liked that?  Cool.  We'll see if Snape doesn't someday extract revenge, though.  Who's the better man?  Hmmm…); __Lei Dumbledore; __Jessica; __Anonymous; __Gwendolyn-flight (hehehehe); __Sirius fan (lol  Thank you, although I myself am *dying* for book 5, I appreciate the vote of confidence!  g); __Smego__ Baggins (Love the name!  I really appreciate that!  Thanks!  Hope the truth of what the Ministry has been doing lived up to your expectations!  Hmm.  She might.  I'll have to see about that…  Poor Harry breaks my heart too.  You wouldn't know it from what I put him through, would you?  8-)  Interesting thought.  We'll have to see if it fits in, but it's a good idea.  Thanks!); __~Aura~ (You'll see soon…); __Nosgoroth (Sure do!  Any HP addict knows them!  Thanks!  I'll try when I can!); __black panther; __Nimue (Hmmm..  I knew that.  Did I not present something right?  As for the grammar stuff ahem…  I write it in Word first, and practically *everything* gets underlined, so I've taken to ignoring Word's prompts. Why?  Are you volunteering for the job?  g); peewee potter; deso (Nope.  No romance here!  I'm too into the bonding thing in this fic!); Kat (In a day… shakes head in amazement  Wow.  Cool to hear.  Sorry it took so long to post!); coconut-ice agent h/h (Yep, it made sense.); Tempest Princess (Thanks!); IsabelleMalfoyPotterSnape (Sorry, no romance here.  Not that I don't like it.  See my favorites to prove that I do.  It's just that, for this fic, it doesn't fit.  There's too much, and truth be told, romance limits itself to 2 people clears throat usually, and excludes others.  This is about friendship and family, so…  There you go.); __Lisa:  ****__Thank you all so much for the reviews!!! _

_bagheera (glad you liked the originals, too!  I didn't want OOCs, but a person's world is not solely made up of mutually known people…  You're welcome!  As for the second review, you'll learn more about Peter soon enough…  Nature of Dark Magic should be next chapter.  Hehehehe.  Yep.  I agree.  Flatter away.  I'm a sponge.); __summersun (Less responses here.  More story.g);  __Alex (yes, yes, yes…  I agree.  I just also want to let reviewers know I read their reviews, and appreciate it.  This should be shorter.  Hm.  Never answered within the review pages before…  As for email… had it, lost it, had it, changed it, got it back, am losing it again…  g__);  Star Future (G  Thanks.  Glad you like all that.  I didn't say that Voldemort *could* summon Remus, but that the Potters feared, because of Voldemort's prowess with Dark Magic, he'd find a way to tap into the Dark Magic that werewolves are created with (canon establishes that Werewolves are Dark Magic).  It was a fear of theirs, but I didn't establish it as a fact. lol  Thanks for the compliments!  I'm really glad you're enjoying it!); __Mara Arwen Black-McGregor (blushes  I agree.  I have to admit, I tend to think so!); __Ash Smash (Chapter 29 is where the dragons come in, and the speculation from there.  Thanks!); __Quatre's__ Angel (kicks at stone shyly  Thanks!  Yes, I'm pretty impressed with my stamina for this, too.  Of course, that's what this is about for me.  Glad you like it!  It's my substitute for the 5th book, too); __Colleen (Not a problem!  Good to hear from you!); __EternalBastet; __Katherine Alexandra Potter; __Anonymous (Sorry for the delay!); __Emily (Sorry 'bout that); __RavenLady (Yeah, in retrospect, it could have been toned down.  Ah well.); __Michelle (Peter's got a lot happening.  I'll be exploring him further, soon.  Yep, therapy is definitely in order.  Not the beginning of term, yet, though it's coming.); __Hblack (Yep, heard it from others, too.  Email has changed, though.  Several times.  I appreciate the sentiments, though.  Do keep in mind, though, that to an aspiring writer, reviews are like crack cocaine.); __Slyterin__ Dark Lord; __Teardrop; Poetic Grim (Wow.  And to think his childhood **did prepare him, didn't it?  Loved the perspectives and insight, and the pervasive sense of hope amidst hopelessness.  Thank you *very* much!); **__Lilas (LOL!!):  ****__More Snape and Harry next chapter!_

_Teufel__ Riddle (Thanks!!!  Hmmm.  Check out http://www.i2k.com/~svderark/lexicon/ for Kneazle info.  The rest is me.); __MarchoftheDemented__ (You'll see! g); __BenJonBroad; __Ashfae (hehehe); __Jocelyn; __bruce (LOL!  G); __Bobbi (Believe it or not, I dreamt part of it.  The rest just keeps writing itself.); __Phoenix Tears Type 6; __Christy; __Caroline; __Nymoue; __Semmel; __BlackDragon; __SpiderGirl05; __Mikayla; __xellia__ metallium (You and me both!  I think I'll try to squeeze in some 'Old Crowd' later.  I *really* appreciate that!  I totally agree! ); __Prami; __fairy cheese; __Impacient; __Brooke; __kungfubabe; __Ringo (Nope.  Not in this one.) ; __Moonlight Yellow (Welcome back!  Never played one, but thanks for the recommend!); ****__Thanks again.  I'll try for more frequent updates, but can only promise updates.  8-)_

_And to those who responded to the Author's Notes:  I appreciate all the encouragement and good wishes you sent my way.  I think you're reviews will be wiped with my update, but know I've read them and *hugely* appreciate all the kind words and thoughts you've sent my way.  I look forward to your feedback as the story progresses!_

_Ruth:  Well, I posted the Author's Note, and hope it's helped.  Sorry to disappoint.  The sparkle isn't gone (at least I hope not), but life is what happens when I'm making other plans.  I intend to finish the story, but can't guarantee timing like Fed Ex does, or your money back.  Hope you continue to read it, but understand if you don't.  _

_SummerCloud:  I've always been more of a character driven writer rather than a plot driven one.  This is the first clear plot I've had thoroughly planned start to finish.  I'm glad the blend hasn't left one or the other in the dust for you!  I do have a mailing list, but haven't been able to use it recently…  I think you can be notified when I update through ff.net, too.    Thanks for the kind words.  Music to my ears, as I'm sure you know I hope to some day be published.  Thanks!_

_ErnieMU03:  Nope, don't mind at all.  g  Yep.  lol!  Thanks!  I'll take you up on that!  8-)  Yes, I suspect I know a bit *too* much about JKR's world…  g  I really appreciate your compliments, and am glad you like the fic!  _

_Sea Chelle:  I appreciate that!  I think you express yourself nicely.  Okay.  You've made my day.  An aspiring writer simply cannot hear enough of someone telling them they should be published.  Manna from the Gods, I say!  Yep, the Dementors definitely made an impression on me, and I wanted to explore it.  I thought that was pretty sneaky, too.  Glad you liked it.  It established a fact without anyone having to go out of character, yet showing an irrevocable truth Sirius couldn't argue with.  Crookshanks, I'll go a little into detail about later.  For now, I've just taken his hatred of Scabbers at Hogwarts and expanded it to something more.  Considering the speculation that he's part Kneazle, it opens a lot of possibilities up.  Nope, you didn't miss it.  Thanks again, and hope you liked the chapter!  _

_Lisette: I appreciate that.  Sorry it took so long!  Oooh!  I hope your roommate likes it!  I know!  It's wild, isn't it?  Truthfully, I did ramble a bit in the beginning, but I think I'm getting better now.  Yeah, I've learned a lot about character development, pacing and plotting since beginning this story.  It was the smartest thing I've done in a long time!  I hope the plot ideas continue to inspire!  Thanks for the kind words.  I've kind of noticed it, too, when I reread a section to make sure I'm not being redundant and such.  I'm pleased you noticed, and thrilled at your compliments.  I can't tell you enough how much they mean to me.  _

_Minerva: Yikes.  In one night?  Glad you like the POV switches, although I have tried to tone that down a bit…  At least not so many in one chapter.  I have to admit, I modified the Dursleys, and I agree that it's out of canon, but I'll tell you why I did:  I wanted Harry out of that house!  I'm appalled that Harry has to stay there, and I knew that a catalyst was needed.  Taking the Dursleys and pushing them that one little step further (and if you think about it, it's not *that* far:  bars on the windows, no friends allowed, chores all day, no homework allowed to be done, no Christmas presents or birthdays…  I mean, really!  How much worse does it have to be for it to be unacceptable for Harry to stay there?)  So…  I gave it a nudge.  The rest kind of happened.  8-)  I see your point about the hugs and physical touches.  You've got me there.  You're most likely right.  Thanks for the thoughtful input!  Look forward to hearing more!  g_

_Moonlight: Thanks.  I have a dog, and realized that she generally *can* tell when people are sick, or mad.  She's really sensitive to these things, so I took a wild guess as to *why*.  Glad it played.  You'll see.  Yep.  One more Snape/Harry segment before…  bwah hah hah hah!_

_Ernie Prang:  Snape is next chapter.  I agree.  I've had a bit of catharsis with this story, getting out all that I wish I'd seen in the story.  Oh, you smoothie, you.  You know how to make an aspiring writer *glow*!  Well, just to let you know, I went to *town* on the mood at the Weasley house, and ended up cutting pages of it.  In all fairness, *none* of it drove the plot along.  I was still partial to the conversations, so I've kept them, but all the rest…  Le sigh.  I can't answer too much more, but lots on the way.  Honest!  Thanks for the great thoughts and feedback!_

_Erika: LOL…  It was fun to read your opinions as you progressed from chapter to chapter.  Glad you liked, and thanks for the kind feedback!_

Lady Foxfire: Hm.  Yep, it is.  I tried to make it obvious, but can see why it's not.  Nothing sinister.  Lupin is there.

_Lothey:  I LOVE it!!!!  I've had it open each time I work on the chapter, and think it, like all your work, is a delight and inspirational.  Sorry I didn't get a chance to let you know directly.  While I moved, my email changed temporarily.  It's sort of back now… For a little while longer.  For anyone who'd like to view Lothey's latest lovely artistic creation, it's located at: http://www.geocities.com/gredandfeorgeareuptonogood/sirius_harry.jpg Me too!  Hmm, haven't heard it or seen the movie, but do want to.  Thanks for the recommend.  Soundtracks are great for writing, as long as you can separate the movie from the music.  Some are too intertwined, like LOTR, but most are fair game.  Gladiator was a good one.  That would be amazing!!!  Okay, you're a bit intimidating… g  LOL…  I can't tell you how cool that would be to have a theme song, although I'd desperately want to hear it.  As it is, I'm already bragging that I have a story that has artwork inspired for it.  8-)  Love Chorale work.  Christmas on NPR *rocks*!  Thanks for the recommends.  I will definitely look into them!  Tell you what…  When I finish the scene I'm talking about, I'll send you a copy directly, before I post.  (I don't want to spoil the story g)  I'll put a note at the end with what I was thinking about, and see what *you* think.  That *would* be fun, though, wouldn't it?  I'd like that.  Thank you *very* much!_


	33. Nature vs Nurture

**Disclaimer:  **What?  You mean I have to give him back?!  I can't keep him?!  Fine, be that way.  Harry Potter and all things Potter related are *soooooo* not mine… sigh  

**Chapter 33**

I've finally managed to shoo Pomfrey and Albus out of my bedchambers.  No one's said it, but I know this will likely be the last night I remain down here.  In fact, I won't be shocked in the least to wake up in the Hospital Wing after tonight's session. _ I heard Pomfrey muttering monitoring spells as she left my quarters, the meddling woman.  I hate the Hospital Wing.  How *anyone* can recover in such an eerily sterile environment is beyond me.  When *I* stay there, I have reoccurring nightmares of waking up trapped in one of my ingredient jars floating in formaldehyde.  __Urgh.  _

I can travel now to Potter's body with ease, manifesting myself within his skin when the Dementors leave.  The potions I've left aren't working as they once did, and the reason why numbs me.  The elixirs are only capable of working with what's there.  If Potter has nothing left…  the potions become useless.  Of course, I know how close to death he is.  I share it with him.  I've been near death myself enough times in the past, but always had the luxury before of delirium or unconsciousness to dull the edges a bit.  _I miss that.  _

Potter has no such luxuries.  His body has begun shutting down, and he can feel it.  He senses it, just as I sense his well being now through the bond, even when I'm not consciously connected with him.  His breaths are shallower, more rapid.  _Automatic_.  His heart flutters irregularly, and a sense of vertigo has ensconced itself firmly in Potter's head, making it nearly impossible for me to maneuver him upright to eat from the tray left by the Azkaban elves.  His vision has blackened around the edges as well.  Even with his glasses on, he's now practically blind as a bat.  One can only hope the effect is temporary.  

Irony is still abundant in Potter's life though.  Part of me…  more than that, actually…  marvels that he is still alive at all.  As he flitters just on the cusp of consciousness, he's been wearily but very consistently trying to break the bond between us.  _Actually, he's annoying the hell out of me_.  He knows he's dying, *I* know he's dying, yet he fights with every ounce of strength he *and I* have to survive, because he knows that if he dies, I do too.  But until I give my consent, the bond remains.  _Forget it, Potter.  All he's been doing is making it more difficult for me to provide him with the energy he needs to live.  _

He may no longer have the strength to try his Animagus form again, but I can still shelter him in my body, here in my chambers, for a little while.  Give him a tiny semblance of peace.  It's cozy and familiar to him now.  I suspect it's why Albus has indulged my wishes to remain here.  _At least for tonight.  A sadness sweeps over me that I know isn't my own.  _I don't *get* sad.  _This bleeding of emotions has allowed far more insight into Potter than I ever wanted.  When this is all said and done, I'm going to go on a quite thorough and proper bender._

He doesn't expect to live.  I don't think he ever really did.  Not to adulthood.  I've seen no dreams or aspirations for when he grows up.  No unrequited crushes that didn't get brutally squelched with Voldemort's rebirth and Diggory's death.  No goals or list of things he'd like to do before he dies.  He has no expectations regarding his own life.  All he has is a few last wishes…  to spend a Christmas with Sirius Black, of all people.  To see his godfather's name cleared.  To fly one last time.  _Pathetic.  _

I see these little…  bits of hope for what they are, and hate what they make me feel.  _In fact, I'll just not acknowledge it, and make it go away, shall I?  _He wants one Christmas with his godfather and Lupin, in a safe place, where he can have just a taste of *what could have been*? _It's pitiful_.  If only Black had gotten custody and never gone to Azkaban.  If Potter had never gone to the Dursleys.  _Hmmm_.  The Dursleys…  Yes, I've seen enough of them now, through the Dementors.  I think someday, when this is all over,  I shall pay them a little visit.  No one ever needs to know.   _Gah.  Enough of wallowing in Potter's misery.  I've a mystery to solve.  _

What in Merlin's name was Pettigrew doing back there?  The price for my freedom is teaching the nature of magic?  Wouldn't a Butterbeer have done as well?  Or perhaps a free ride on the Knight Bus?  My report to Albus when I returned was thorough.  I spoke of every detail, every conversation, every moment of my last day of employment as a spy.  It's damned annoying to be reminded that, as skilled as I am at keeping secrets, I'm an amateur compared to Albus.  The look on his face when I described what Potter did…

"Wandless magic.  Remarkable…" he'd muttered, his eyes alight with a fire I haven't seen in quite a while.  More *could* have been said, but *no*…  _He's a little *too* fond of mysteries, I think_.  Yes, yes… spy Death Eater could have been tortured to reveal all.  _Details.  Damned annoying technicality, really.  _I won't read books in a series until it's complete for just that reason.  I've never been keen to be left hanging.  

Pettigrew's actions, though, brought far more concern to Albus.  "Why do you think he did that, Severus?" he asked me in the middle of my report.  I thought about my answer for a moment.  I'd tried to analyze each nuance of our brief conversation, tried to sort out anything I'd noted that was *different* from the time before.  Truthfully, I couldn't think of any.  He's still a weak, rat faced, broken man, treacherous and traitorous, too bright for his own good, hated even by those he'd allied himself with.  _Nope.  Nothing new there.  _

So why did he save my life?  Albus is well aware of my feelings regarding Pettigrew… of my guilt.  He may not have been much of a man, but what little there was I enabled Voldemort to strip from him, fillet by fillet.  Unfortunately, I have no insight into his motivations at all.  He's not the one I've spent my life studying and spying on, after all.  I had bigger fish to fry, so to speak.

"Perhaps he's finally gone off his rocker," I replied dismissively.  Who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?  He saved my life, so I'll tell Potter a little bedtime story.  I've certainly paid much higher prices for my life.  

"Did he seem… wrong?" Albus asked thoughtfully.  I shook my head with a raised eyebrow.  Who isn't *wrong* in the crowd I ran with?  

"No more so than usual.  Perhaps a bit manic," I replied.  Albus steepled his fingers in front of his face and tapped the fingertips together thoughtfully.  He began to absently chew on the stray hairs of his beard with his lower teeth in an oddly distracted gesture.

"Thank you, Severus," he said dismissively, and I knew our meeting was done.  _Fine_.  _Keep your insights to yourself_.  I'm a pawn in this war.  I always have been.  I'm well aware of it, and even at peace with it most of the time.  I'm not *meant* to know all that's going on, not with what I do.  _But I'm retired now, damnit, and feeling a bit peaked_.  And perhaps at this point, I feel like I should *know* where this is going, one way or the other.  If it is my place to die with Potter_…  I'll do it.  It's what's been asked of me, and I'll do no less than all I can.  But if I'm not… then *now* would be a good time to pull the proverbial 'rabbit out of the hat', because Potter hasn't got much longer, and truthfully, neither do I.  _

Sighing, I lean back into the pillows propping me up in bed.  I've a goblet of Pepperup potion beside me, as well as more chocolate.  My tea is just about the right temperature, and the bowl of fruits the house elves brought earlier still looks cool and refreshing.  I've taken to having hot flashes lately, tempered by those blasted chills that no charmed blankets can ease, and my stomach is much more temperamental than it once was, all courtesy of Potter, I'm sure.  _You're procrastinating again.  Yes, yes.  Tell me something I *don't* know.  Like why Pettigrew saved my life and wants me to teach a lesson in the nature of magic to a dying boy.  _

I close my eyes and reach out with my mind.  He's so much more distant now…  I keep calling him a boy, but he's not.  He hasn't been for a while now.  I'm not sure that makes him a man… in fact, I don't think it does.  But what he's seen colors his perception so much more sharply than it ever did before.  It gives him an air of profound sadness and wisdom I find disconcerting and disturbing.  It's not natural to be his age, yet so…  resigned.  He doesn't want to die.  I can feel it in every fiber of his being.  Yet he's resigned to it, accepting of it.  He wants to survive, but knows he won't.  Life, a future, friendship and love…  these are pipe dreams he's still unwilling to give up on, yet he knows they'll never happen.  

He's still trying to systematically chip away at the spell that connects us, I see as I reach out for him.  _Hah.  Good luck with that, Potter_.  I'm not going anywhere.  I brush away the tatters of what he's tried to break, and reaffirm the link between us as if nothing happened, pulling him to me.  It's far easier to buffer myself from the effects of the Dementors when I keep myself anchored *here*, rather than trying to go to him.  

**_Let me go, Professor.  I don't want you to die, _**Potter's thoughts whisper in my mind.  _Is it possible for a soul to seem heavier?  _As I draw him towards me, he feels sluggish, as if he's being buffeted by currents in a slow moving river.  Like he's being pulled *away* from me.  His pain is something I've taken to using potions to dull, even though I experience only a fraction of it.  _Potent potions.  Truthfully, I've not encountered ongoing pain, both physical and emotional, of this magnitude before.  The fact that *I* now require mood stabilizing potions does not thrill me.  _

"Then quit wasting your energy fighting me, and rechannel all that altruistic Gryffindor martyrdom to surviving until help arrives," I reply, remembering to respect how much better he felt when I spoke aloud rather than reading his thoughts.  I feel gratified as Potter finally settles within my chest.  I half feared not being able to call him to me.  For a moment, he relishes the feel of my pillows, my mattress, the gentle pop and crackle of the fire in the fireplace.   I consciously anchor him to me, securely, even if it's only for a little while.

**_Someone's coming? _**he thinks, astounded, although his voice is oddly hollow.  

"Yes, someone's coming.  Did you think we'd leave you there forever?" I ask, annoyed.  It's odd, talking to myself.  I realize that he's so weak, I dare not waste *too* much time with insults and humor, so I consciously work at keeping my normal snarky comments at least somewhat in check. 

**_Well, the thought had crossed my mind, _**he replies, his voice soft, with just the faintest hint of irony.   I hear his thoughts so clearly.  I know it unnerved him before, so I don't make him aware that I can still do it now.  I can't believe he's assessing how *I* am doing.  My physical condition, my state of well being.  It's bizarre.  The boy's in Azkaban, dying, yet he's spending his time away making sure *I* am alright.  

"Quit that," I snap.  "I'm fine," I say, then decide a bit of chocolate might help Potter inadvertently through me.  I reach out to take a bit and hiss as the bandage on my forearm pulls away from my skin, pulling the scab of Black's mauling bites with it.  

**_*That* isn't fine, Professor.  Did that happen at the house? _**Potter asks, concerned.   _Oh.  _Well…  _What do I say now?  Do I tell him about Black?  _Would he be relieved to know the mutt's okay, or horrified to hear he's on a hunt of his own?  _Great.  _Moral dilemmas.  _How does that work when one *has* no morals?  _Easy.  Lie.  Once a spy, always a spy.

"Yes," I reply, amused at my own answer, and nibble at the chocolate.  Sickly sweet and oh so Gryffindor.  I prefer tart candies myself.  

**_I see your other arm still burns as well_**, he observes.  And so it does.  I count myself lucky that that is all it does for the moment.  I do not relish the time when my betrayal has Voldemort's undivided attention.  

"He was a bit vexed with me the last time we met," I reply dryly.  "Does the chocolate help?" I ask idly, by way of distraction.  I take a sip of my tea as well, and eye the Pepperup.  _Hmmm_.   

**_I think so_**, he replies wearily.  He's so close to losing consciousness, even with the energy I've been trying to feed him.  _Okay.  I set down my tea and swallow the Pepperup in a gulp.  He's startled by my abrupt movements, which pleases me.  I don't like being predictable._

"Did that do anything?" I ask after waiting for the effects to pass.  _Interesting.  The potion didn't react the way it normally would.  Is it because I too am near death, or because I shelter Potter within me?  _

**_I think it did.  Thank you_**, Potter says.  I take another bite of the chocolate and wait for him to say something.  He remains silent and still.  He's waiting for me, I realize.  No questions, no inquiries.  That I don't like.  _He should be more actively interested in his own well being, not just mine_.  

"Aren't you curious who's coming to rescue you?" I ask aloud.  _Why am I doing this?  _

**_Who's coming? _**Potter asks, taking the bait.  _I'll just worry him.  _So why do I feel like I've got to do this?  

"Your godfather," I say aloud.  Immediately I feel the alarm thrill through him.  

**_What?  Sirius?  He's coming to Azkaban?  Why? _**Potter asks, and I relish the energy that fear has brought into his veins.  It's not a positive emotion, and *is* yet something else for him to worry about, but it's better than the apathy that was beginning to infuse into his very being.  I decide not to mention the wizards Weasley will be sending his way.  It'll distract from his worry, and Potter's concern for his godfather has stirred him up like I haven't seen for days.  

"Who better than an escapee to break you out?" I ask dismissively, as if the answer is obvious.  Evidently, it was not unanticipated when I spoke of the unexpected meeting and confrontation between myself and Black.  Annoyingly, Albus also wasn't surprised to learn where the convict was heading.  _Completely unsurprised, in fact.  I often wonder if Albus' ability to make everything seem like he'd planned or anticipated it isn't really just the most gifted poker face I've ever encountered.  _

**_Azkaban is the last place Sirius needs to be_**, Potter says, and I feel his concern for his godfather turn into berating himself for making the wrong choice.  He should have gone to the Shrieking Shack with Sirius.  All his hopes of clearing Sirius' name had been crushed, and the criticism he lashes on himself is brutal…

"Spilt milk, Potter.  What's done is done," I say with a wave of my good arm.  "Besides, you'll be pleased to know Mr. Weasley is as we speak spreading the news of your injustice with the rest of the wizarding world," I say.  He stills in shock.  _Didn't expect that, did you?  Heh.  Neither did I.  _

**_Percy?  _**Harry asks, and I feel the smallest spark of amusement burble up inside me.  Potter's amusement.  I'm stunned.  **_Really?  Wow.  _**I can't help but smile as I hear the astonishment in his voice, and his own sense of… validation?  Pride?  He knew Percy Weasley provided a scroll of the true accountings of what went on while he was interrogated at the Ministry of Magic, but not that he'd continued to cooperate.  _Yes, I certainly didn't think he'd have the spine to do it, either.  Potter isn't sure what to make of Percy Weasley's turnaround.  I won't mention that it was watching Potter convulse on Veritaserum that cured the imbecile's loyalty towards the Ministry.  **_That is… unexpected, _Potter observes.  I snort and am glad Potter can't see my face.  I didn't know if Potter was even capable of humor, however dark, anymore, and the fact that he is shows a resiliency that nearly takes my breath away.  **_

"I thought so as well.  I'll be curious to see how the Daily Puppet reports it," I say.

**_You mean the Daily Prophet?  _**He corrects me automatically.  

"Huh," I say.  Another tiny burble of amusement floats up through our connection.  Evidently he agrees with me.  I find myself working to make him laugh.  Hoping he's still capable of it.  I feel our connection begin to blur for a moment.  "Potter?" I ask in alarm.  

**_Still here.  Sorry_**, he says.  _Right.  Time to get on with Pettigrew's lesson then.  I focus my thoughts as I reach a trembling hand out for another sip of tea.  I force as much energy as I dare into the bond while still remaining alert and aware.  He puts up a brave front.  I have to give him that.  _

"Are you aware of the nature of magic?  Have you read it, *or had it read to you* as the case may be, by a certain bookworm, sometime during your infamous exploits?"  I ask, distracting him.  _I'm losing him_.  Probing his thoughts a little deeper, I discover that the prolonged exposure to the Dementors appears to be making him struggle for memories of his time at Hogwarts. Is it because he has fond memories of the school, then?  Does he remember his friends?  His schoolmates?  

**_Sir?_** He asks, bewildered.  I've sidetracked him.  

"Magic.  Where does it come from?  What is Dark Magic?  " I ask, assuming the proper professorial tones to stir him up again.  I feel him gather his concentration to focus on me.  Good.  

**_I've no idea, Professor,_** he replies.  

"Then I'll tell you," I say.  _No scathing remarks?  I must be going soft_.  "Magic is neutral in nature," I begin.  

**_How can that be?  What's Dark Magic, then, if not evil? _**Potter asks, and I'm pleased I've captured his full attention.  

"It's the wielder, not the magic itself that's dark," I explain.  

**_Then what are the Unforgivable Curses?_** He asks.  _Good question_.  I couldn't have asked of a better set-up.  

"Curses that the wizarding community have deemed too powerful, and too easy to be abused.  The curses themselves aren't evil," I say.  Silence is my response.  He doesn't agree, but won't say it aloud.  He's too tired to argue with me.  "Why do wizards fear St. Mungo's?" I ask.  That puzzles him.  It seems a random question.  

**_Because they hate hospitals? _**He guesses.  I read from his thoughts that *he* certainly does.  _See, Poppy.  Leave us down here, damnit._

"Because certain wizards and witches are actually *licensed* to perform the Unforgivables," I say.  He's intrigued.  

**_At St. Mungo's?  Really?  Why?  Which ones?  How can they be used for good? _**He rattles off the questions.  I've caught his curiosity.  

"Look at the curses themselves.  The Imperius Curse.  What could it be used for?" I ask, trying to force him to participate.  _He's so tired, though_.  

**_It takes away someone else's will.  So…  a circumstance where someone's will is bad?  Maybe someone's who's suicidal?  _**Potter asks.  _Not bad_.  

"You've heard of phobias?  They occur among wizards as well as Muggles.  It would be ridiculous for a wizard to be Rhabdophobic, wouldn't it?"  I ask.  I have to admit, I still think that's one of the funniest things I've ever heard of.  

**_Rhabdo_****_…  What's that?  _Potter asks.  **

"Fear of magic," I reply.  His silence is warm.  He appreciates the irony as well.  "Phobias can be crippling, and sometimes the only way to overcome them is to face them.  But what if the wizard won't or can't?  This is where the trained professionals at St. Mungo's come in," I continue wryly, aware I sound like an advert.  "In the right circumstances, they can use the Imperius Curse to allow a wizard to do something they otherwise might not be capable of doing.  Given time, experience, and confidence, eventually the wizard learns to do it for themselves, but in the interim…" I explain.  The next one I know is much more sensitive.  

**_Interesting,_** he murmurs.  I hear his skepticism.  I've only explained *one* of the three.  

"Do you think Cedric suffered?"  I ask abruptly.  The emptiness and darkness that swells within me makes me afraid I've gone too far and lost him.  "Harry?"  I ask.  I'm pushing it, I know, but oddly feel this is something I need to address.  

**_Uh_**, he stutters as he tries to gather himself.  The raw pain and guilt that floods through me is nearly overwhelming, causing my breath to catch and my heart to pound in my ears.  _Yes, I've gone too far, but instinct tells me this is necessary for some reason.  I do many things based on what my intuition tells me.  It's saved my life on numerous occasions, after all.  The only time I ignored it was when I listened to Black.  _Bastard_.  _

"You've seen the Killing Curse cast numerous times.  Do you think they suffer?" I ask again.  My connection to him is tremulous at best.  I'm losing him to pain, as I ask him to probe memories that, were his soul still in Azkaban, he'd undoubtedly currently be living.  "Potter!  Focus.  Yes or no?"  He jumps at my tone.  

**_He was surprised.  Curious as to what was happening.  He didn't look like he was in pain.  It was like a magic wind blew his soul straight out of his body, and he didn't even have time to register the fact that he'd died_**, Harry explained, his tone flat.  _Not a bad description_.  

"Precisely.  Sometimes there comes a moment in a wizard's life, as there are in a Muggle's, when all options have been exhausted, all cures have been tried and failed, and all that is left is the suffering.    Wizards and witches are allowed a choice.  When death is inevitable, but *how* it occurs isn't, couldn't the Killing Curse also be considered a mercy?" I ask him.  He's trying to draw himself out of the pain to truly look at the question.  I'm grateful I didn't push him too far.  Or that he's resilient enough to move past it.  I wouldn't have had the strength to draw him back.  

**_I suppose it could.  I've felt guilty about praying for it when *he* is feeling particularly cruel to someone, and all I can do is wish for their pain to end_**, he says.  Chilling words.  When there's no hope for survival, one prays for small mercies.  Yes, I've certainly wished for death myself rather than face his rather *creative* torture methods.  I learned long ago that Voldemort feeds on suffering, and it takes little to no excuse at all for him to turn on his followers.  _So… *That* was easier to explain than I anticipated.  One more to go.  _

"So…  One more of the Unforgivables," I echo my thoughts.  

**_Yes.  I can already tell you, I have no idea what could be positive about the Cruciatus Curse, _**he states flatly.  As someone who's suffered it, I certainly can't blame him.  

"The mind is a tricky thing, Potter.  You've heard what too long under the Cruciatus Curse can do.  But think… what did you feel when you were under it?"  _Oh.  Bad idea.  Let's just blow past that, rather than making him answer it_.  "Every nerve in your body is on fire, right?  Even ones you've never felt before.  So…  Follow that logic.  Nerves, muscles, tendons.  What about when your mind can't *reach* those same nerves?  When commands to move a limb are disconnected from the limb itself?" I prompt.

**_Like paralysis?  _**He asks.  I nod, pleased.  

"Yes.  And even stroke victims.  When the messages never reach the body, or the mind is too confused to get the message out at all.  The Cruciatus Curse blasts past all that.  It's been known, on occasion, to reconnect nerves in a spinal cord injury, and accelerate stroke recoveries hundredfold," I explain.  He's appropriately stunned.  

**_There's other Dark Magic, other than the Unforgivables, _**he states slowly, as if he's gathering his thoughts to ask the next question.  **_How about what Professor Lupin goes through each month?  How could the curse of being a werewolf *ever* be a good thing? _He challenges.  I'm pleased by his questions.  Even as distracted as he is, he truly is absorbing all that I'm explaining.  Pettigrew would be pleased.  **

"Let's look at the curse itself.  Professor Lupin himself isn't evil," I say, though admitting it aloud is unpleasant.  I'm terrified of the man and what he's capable of, and hate what he made me feel, but have to school my responses so that it doesn't cloud what I'm trying to teach.  As it is, Potter is skeptical of what I've already said.  I can sense how much he adores the man and resents what he perceives to be my forcing his resignation.  Wisely, though, he remains silent.  "Wolves aren't evil by their very nature, either, are they?" I ask.  

**_No_**, he replies.  

"So what is it about the werewolf that makes it Dark?  The wolf isn't evil, and neither is the man," I explain, then try to phrase it another way.  "The werewolf is feared for its brutality and ruthlessness.  It either kills or turns victims into creatures like itself.  Wolves aren't normally like that.  In fact, they avoid humans at all costs, only crossing our paths when forced to.  They don't appear to particularly like human flesh, either," I say, suppressing shudders at the sudden flash of fangs and claws.  "When Lupin becomes a werewolf, several things occur, all of which are catalysts for the Dark Magic.  First of all is the transformation itself…  I'm told the pain is comparable to Cruciatus," I state, reassessing our connection and that Potter is still firmly *with* me.  _He's fading_.  I force a little more energy into him, and feel my own world go slightly topsy-turvy for a moment before reorienting itself.  

**_Sorry, Professor.  I'm still here.  It's just that you're not quite as clear, and the room's beginning to blur a bit_**, he says.  _Not a good sign_.  **_Please go on_.  **

"Any animal will lash out in pain.  And the Curse was designed to insure that there would be no easy way of easing the agony of transformation.  This is why there are so few older werewolves.  Their constitution simply cannot handle it month after month for any length of time," I say and feel Potter wince at the pronouncement against Lupin.  

**_Do werewolves go after other animals as well as humans? _**Potter asks after a moment.  

"They do, but their focus is definitely against humans.  There is a reason for this, though, as well.  The man is aware of the wolf, as the wolf is of the man, but they are eternally separate, yet part of the same being.  Two halves of a whole," I say around a nibble of the chocolate.  I'm shivering, even with charmed blankets, a fire and warm tea in me.  The chill of the Dementors are beginning to seep through my defenses, chipping away at the protections I've tried to build around Potter, however temporarily.  _He's lived this now for days on end.  How can he?  I can barely tolerate a few hours._

**_But the werewolf isn't really Remus, is it?  _**Potter asks, although I sense he already knows the answer.  He believes it is, but wishes it weren't.  

"He is.  He is the wolf, cut off from his own humanity, his own memory, blinded by pain and aware that there is *so* much more to his life that he cannot reach, cannot obtain.  The primal instincts of the wolf lash out at everything, but their focus is on humans…  The very thing Lupin desperately wishes he could retain.  Learning.  Rational thought.  Memory.  Love.  It's what makes the Curse as cruel as it is.  A werewolf will tear your heart out without a regret, leaving the man behind to face the consequences over which he has absolutely no control," I finish.  

**_How can that *not* be Dark?  That's *horrible*!_** He states in anguish.  Evidently all his reading of werewolves didn't allow for him to truly realize the ramifications.  

"Black is an Animagus.  He is both the man and the mutt," I state, forcing my lips not to draw back into a snarl.  Have I mentioned recently how much I loathe the man?  "The part of him that is human remains in his Animagus form, and visa versa," I explain.  "The transformation is relatively painless.  Voluntary.  You don't crave Cornish pasties as a Phoenix, you crave…  Actually, I have no idea what a Phoenix eats.  You'll just have to figure that one out on your own.  But I digress…  My point is that as a Phoenix you'll eat what a Phoenix eats and not think twice about it.  Once you've regained your strength, you'll be able to switch between your Animagus and human form at will," I state, using the reminder of his own Animagus to try to direct him towards more pleasant memories.  "There are a multitude of carefully crafted spells interwoven, tied to potions that affix themselves with the blood of a human, used in the Werewolf Curse.  Each one, on it's own, isn't Dark.  Amnesia, transformation… Even the spells that don't allow the suppression of pain are used in some instances to circumvent a wizard's trying to ignore and work through an injury rather than allowing himself to recover," I finish.  

**_So magic is neutral,  _**Potter says thoughtfully.  **_But I've heard that Dark Magic takes practice to get good at_, he's making the statement a question hesitantly, well aware of my own history.  **

"It does.  Wizards are born with varying degrees of talent at magic, but much can be made up with practice.  Dark magic is channeled through the wizard as well as his wand.  When the caster's intentions are cruel or vindictive…  the magic uses different channels.  Life, healing, survival, even death, are all natural.  Cruelty, vindictiveness, one could argue, are not.  It's *learned*.  But once someone has used 'Dark Magic' per say, they develop a taste for it.  They *want* to do it.  And the next time they do, there is that much less reservation casting it than the time before."

**_So the magic is neutral, but the wizard isn't, then.  Okay.  So where does magic come from?  _**Potter asks, his tone falsely bright.  _A little more energy then.  ****__Professor, he says sternly.  I pause in the midst of trying to conjure up more stamina.  **_Stop that_.  **_

"Stop what?" I ask in annoyance, although I know exactly what he's talking about.  

**_You almost fainted the last time.  Did you think I wouldn't notice?  I'm looking through your eyes, remember? _**He scolds.  So he is.  I had forgotten that.  I decide to ignore his comment and answer his question.  

"No one knows when magic came into being.  Most believe, including myself, that it has always been.  It's eternal, as old as creation.  It's infinite, and not unlimited, as far as I can tell.  There is no well that will eventually run dry," I say.  

**_Magic is neutral.  Wizards aren't_**…  Potter's voice wavers.  He struggles to even say that much.  I'm losing him.  I try to catch his interest again, daring not to expend any more energy.  I know enough about myself to know when I'm a bit shocky.  _Too much first hand experience._

"As far as Dark Magic goes, intention with casting is everything.  In fact, seventh years are taught to narrow a spell's focus through intent alone.  You can utter the spell to make hair pink, but intent can make it bright pink or pale.  The same goes with any magic," I state.  **Potter?**  I call loudly in alarm, directly into his mind.  Silence.  _Damnit__!  He's slipped through my grasp like a puff of smoke as I talked.  The icy cold of Azkaban thrills through my veins as he drifts away.  _Did he hear me?  Does it matter?  I'm losing him.  _I was able to keep him for a little while, at least.  __He puts on such a Gryffindor front.  But his body is indeed shutting down.  The bone deep weariness colors every aspect of him now.  He doesn't want to die, but he is, and he knows it will be soon.  He doesn't want me to die, but cannot sever the bond between us without my permission.  _He stays alive for me, now_, I realize, and that is a strange thought.  And oddly enough, I realize that even if he dies…  he hasn't been defeated.  Not in spirit.  _But he's been so badly damaged.  _Should the cavalry arrive, even were it to be at precisely this moment, could Potter recover?  _

Arthur Weasley is the figurehead of some force Dumbledore has assembled over the summer, ready to take action against the Ministry and to save Potter.  After I tested the ash Weasley provided, Dumbledore sent word to Arthur, to activate the plans he'd set in place.  Supposedly, those loyal to Dumbledore are even now preparing to reinforce the Azkaban defences prior to Voldemort's attack, while planning to whisk Potter away from danger.  Whether they or Black get there first is anyone's guess.  _We're almost there, Potter, _I think distractedly as I, too, begin to drift to darkness.  I no longer have the strength to remain conscious.  _Stay with me.  We're almost done, I think, but doubt he hears me.  The door to my chamber quietly opens, and I know Pomfrey has come for me.  __Who will come for him?  _

**************************************************************

**Ministry of Magic Cover-Up Conspiracy**

_By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent_

The growing list of missing witches and wizards can now officially be listed among the first casualties of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.  During the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament, Harry Potter, the boy who as a baby defeated You-Know-Who, and Cedric Diggory, prefect, Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team at Hogwarts disappeared for countless moments.  A portkey transported the two boys to an undisclosed location, where Cedric Diggory's life was tragically cut short while trying to defend his teammate and fellow student Harry Potter.  

Over the last few months, this reporter has gone undercover, carefully tracking the movements of certain key Ministry officials in the hopes of trying to determine what went wrong at the Triwizard Tournament, why the Ministry of Magic refuses to acknowledge the significant increase in Wizarding disappearances, and the real reasons why the Dark Mark flew over the Quidditch World Cup.  

The Ministry of Magic has been adamant in its refusal to acknowledge the possibility of the purported rebirth of You-Know-Who.  What has been unearthed during this two month long investigation will shock even the stoutest souls.   Over the next week, the Daily Prophet will reveal exclusive details surrounding the Ministry cover-up of murdered Wizards and Witches, and the abduction and imprisonment of fifteen year old Harry Potter in the most feared wizarding prison in existence, Azkaban.  

Muggles and Wizards alike have reason to fear.  Death Eaters are on the prowl once again.  This reporter personally witnessed an attack upon the home of Arvel and Deirdre Barnes, the Dark Mark that hovered above it, and the Ministry officials who arrived at the scene shortly afterwards to eradicate all traces of Dark Magic.  After systematically removing the bodies to an undisclosed location and dispelling any lingering Dark Magic traces, unidentified Ministry officials performed memory charms on concerned friends and neighbors to further cover-up any evidence of wrongdoing.  

What is so important that Ministry officials are willing to lie about He-Who-Must-Be-Named?  Is it the fact that Bartemius Crouch Sr. himself, head of International Cooperation at the Ministry of Magic, is involved in a scandal that smuggled his son, a convicted supporter of You-Know-Who, to freedom, leaving his dying wife to rot in Barty Crouch Jr.'s place in the depths of Azkaban?  

In the upcoming exclusive by the Daily Prophet, these questions and more will be explored in detail.  In the below photograph, validated with tamperproof-spelled  film, it can be clearly seen that, in the dead of night, the Dark Mark flies again.  

With this evidence, one can only wonder what the Ministry was thinking, forcing an adult dose of Veritaserum on a fifteen year old boy, and the only known survivor of an attack by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.  What charges have been brought against The Boy Who Lived, and why, while awaiting a trial (where no dates have been set), has he been sent to reside in the most dreaded wizarding prison in existence?  One fears for the continued health and safety of young Harry Potter, and hopes that he can indeed remain The Boy Who Lived.

**TBC…**

************************************************************************

**Author's Notes**:  Thanks for all the supportive comments.  I've managed to wrap this chapter up faster than the last, thanks in part to my lovely fiancé who is now peering over my shoulder anxiously for each new chapter.  Who'd have thought it?  8-)

Cherrychica89 lol!  Well, this *is* categorized as Angst, you know *g*; Ali; JKJoling I think he will; WittchWay; SEEKER-2000 heheheheh…  Last minute inspiration, that one!  Glad you took the time to review.  Thank you!  *blushes happily at compliments*; Ash Smash Tell me about it! *g*Yep!; Matthew O. Persico It will be soon!  I have.  When I'm completely done and have the opportunity to edit, then I'll also post there.  Thanks for the link!; stormyfire; Teardrop hehehe; Kim Lots going on.  Summary: Percy finds evidence to prove the MoM is covering up Death Eater activity; Semmel; Lisette bwah hah hah.  Your roommate might not like me for long.  Those ff stories are bloody addictive!; Ali Kat Kelts It's starting too.  Thank you for the kind thoughts!; Von *ahem*  Well, *backs away from the keyboard in fright* here's Harry now.  Better? *g*;  Christy; Lilas; leaf He does!  Woo hoo!  I'll try when I have a moment.  I apologize for not being able to do it right now.; ICE; opal-dragon A lot of people missed that. Good catch!; Orpheus Things still need to happen.  With multiple characters, I have multiple things.  Hope this one is better for you. Nope.  Not with inconsistent email.  I've shortened the responses, but still want to acknowledge the reviews.  If you don't like, don't read.; psychochick heheh…  Is it wrong to admit you can never sing too much? *g*; Smego Baggins I'll try; hp_4ashley2000 She is.  I hope to do so someday! Thank you.; Ariana Deralte Never saw it.  I assume it's a movie?; Koanju; KittenBabyGirl; vball1103 Not telling, but it's coming!  Sorry I haven't the opportunity to respond by email…  I'm working on that!; Fleur Glad you caught that.  Go Snape! Heh; Amy Potter 13; PurePsychicEspeon One would hope *giggles manically*; japangirlcmw G; SaukaraSnape; kokopoko Thank you!; Lucia Iris Legaia Tanaka hehehehe…  See, I did it faster this time!; kungfubaby; Losiria; Nymoue; black panther he's still around *g*; I am hyper now; holly; Tempest Princess; LoreLai; Lisiria; TeeDee I laughed out loud when I read your review.  In my defence, the site shows my last update at 12-28-02, but I actually did update just an hour before the site went down for 2 days, and the updated timestamp never showed.  I seem to have that kind of luck.  This has happened 2x before as well.  It's a conspiracy, I say! *ahem*; Black Rose He does!  Yippee!; Bethany Trust me when I tell you that he is a total delight to write as well.  He's hysterical, and I find myself wishing *I* had the nerve to say what he says and does.  Hope you liked him this chapter, too!:  **The common theme was 'Where's Harry?', so I hope this answers some of those questions. g  Thank you all so much for your awesome reviews and kind words!  ** 

Anti Pasta:  Thank you!  Heh, who'd have thought *I* would like Percy, either?  He's insufferable in the series.  He was a sneaker character that ended up carrying far more than I ever intended him to.  Hope you enjoyed Snape!

Shiloh: I absolutely agree with you.  There's something about Harry that just makes me wish *I* could adopt him.  Trust me, Snape would answer to *me* for anything cruel he said in class!  Insulting Harry's parents and his own abilities like that…  How *dare* he! mumbles unhappily and glares at canon Snape  I started writing this story in large part because I too was dying for Book 5, and at the time the publishers couldn't even begin to guess when that might be.  Oh, I *love* that story!  It's one of my favorites as well!  They've totally kept the characters canon, and have succeeded admirably in fleshing Ginny out as well.  I'm so glad to hear you were recommended my story there!  That is quite a compliment indeed!  Ah, you've struck something personal there, haven't you?  Yes, another reason I started this story was prompted by my outrage yes, yes, I *know* it's fiction. that poor Harry had to once again go to the Dursleys.  I am well aware of the damage verbal and emotional abuse can do, not just physical.  It scars you… and, well, darnit, Harry shouldn't have had to go back to them!  I realized that for *my* Harry to get out of that situation, to stick to canon, I'd have to give it a little nudge.  Obviously verbal and emotional abuse (and don't forget starvation.  Can we say Oliver?!) weren't enough to get him out of the house, but physical would.  And ultimately, I think it's his lonliness and remarkable resilience in the face of such pain, and his joy at the good that *does* come his way that makes him so remarkable to me.  He's been placed in such awful circumstances, and where most would be bitter and jaded and closed off to everything, he's… beautiful.  As for Snape…  If it weren't for fanfiction, I'd never have learned to appreciate the snarky joy of the man.  Once you've had a taste for it, you never want to go back!  Hmmm…  Well, it is written as Angst, but do consider the title as well.  That's all I'll say on the matter.  grins madly at the kind words about the story.  Okay, I'll confess.  This 32 year old child feels the same way!  What tragic, beautiful characters JKR has written, and I've learned so much from them.  It's been my pleasure to borrow them for my own therapy while I breathlessly await Book 5. 

Sea Chelle: Goody, goody, goody!  I *love* long reviews!!!  *Smiles happily*  I really appreciate your encouraging words about becoming published.  Writing this story has been the best thing for my writing that I've done in decades.  It's one thing to harbor a secret hope you could one day be published, but another entirely to actually *share* it with someone, and have them enjoy it.  It's more validation than I could have ever dreamed of.  Oh yes, Severus is *very* angry at Percy.  Keep in mind, if it weren't for him, Fudge may not have had an excuse to come so quickly after Harry.  And considering the bond…  Nope, Snape's none too pleased.  He does like it!  Dances happily around the room!  

Mara Arwen Black-McGregor:  I agree.  Thanks!  I know.  Poor little guy *who almost made Percy a Crispy Critter* *heh*.  Thanks for the kind wishes, and I'll try!  

Lucia Iris Legaia Tanaka:  lol Well, thank you very much!  G  No worries, there!

Lothey:  Soon.  Really!  8-)  I promise to send an advance with what I'd pictured at the end when I send it to my beta-reader, okay?  No peeking!  g

Loriel Eris:  It's always terrific to hear I've been recommended.  Thank you so much.  It's fun to look at what others have to say about it (hence why these darn reviews are so addictive, as well).  Believe it or not, I started this fic because I wanted to get Harry *out* of the Dursleys.  Jeez.  Who'd have thought where it would go from there? g  I'm glad you like the story.  It was fun to read your opinions as the story progressed.  Compliments on my writing ability are soaked up like a sponge!  Thanks for the kind reviews!


	34. When It Rains, It Pours

**Disclaimers:  **After profound self-analysis, deep introspective insight, and charka cleansing rituals, I've come to the conclusion that I *still* can't claim the Harry Potter universe as my own.  Le sigh.

**Author's Note**:  Reposted the same day minus one sentence.  For those who've already read it…  Sorry for the confusion!

**Chapter 34**

Arthur was profoundly grateful that the most vulnerable of his family were back at Hogwarts, safely in Dumbledore's hands.  All hell was about to break loose, and the last thing he wanted was the Burrow, and more specifically his children, to be at risk while he effectively staged an insurrection against the Ministry of Magic.  He prayed they would have a home to come back to.  Ron had been especially difficult to convince to go back to school, but once Molly pointed out that in all likelihood Harry would end up ultimately at the Hospital Wing, he'd been more cooperative.  _Hogwarts may well be a last bastion against the Ministry, if things don't go well…_

"Molly, I'm begging…  I'd feel better if you went to visit your parents until this blows over," Arthur said as he felt a cup of tea slipped into his hands.  He looked at her strong, calloused fingers but didn't look into her eyes.  He knew what he'd see there.

He was still reeling in shock at the instructions Dumbledore had given him.  _It's time.  It's now.  All your preparations, all the subterfuge, the planning...  You have the pieces in place.  Are you prepared to cite open rebellion against the very people you've worked so hard for all these years?  _

Arthur knew, even as he asked himself, what the answer was.  _Of course I am…_  How easy it was, in the end, to throw it all away for the sake of beliefs, for morality, for what was *right* versus what was easy.  

_Poor Harry…_All that he'd been struggling to put in place couldn't be sacrificed for the sake of one life, even Harry's, and Arthur knew there would likely come a day when he had to account for himself and his choices to his children.  But he couldn't think about that, or Harry, right now.  Harry's fate rested in Dumbledore's hands.  _The Ministry's fate rests in mine, Arthur thought with a touch of grim irony._

Molly gently ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, fluffing it out.  He closed his eyes for a moment, letting her warm hands soothe away his fears, however temporarily, even as she puffed out what little hair he had playfully, making him look like a rumpled chicken.

"I'm not going anywhere, dear.  I'll stay out of your way, but I'm not leaving your side," she said simply.  He nodded in acceptance.  He knew better than to push it.  She let her arms slip around his neck and nestled her face into his neck, her breath warm against his chin.  

She'd always seemed so strong to him.  It had been so long since Ginny was born…  Since he almost lost them both.  The terror of that awful night had faded to a distant echo, only to be reawakened when the Aurors attacked the Burrow, when he'd seen her…  _Don't even think about that right now, Arthur._  He both loved and hated that she insisted on remaining at his side.  There was no one else he'd rather have, and yet …  

"You can do this, Arthur.  You know it's right," Molly said softly, certain, and kissed him on the cheek.  Gently she pulled her arms away to slip back into the kitchen, where the scents that drifted forth weren't from food, but from potions.  _Healing potions.  Arthur prayed they wouldn't need them, then stood from the chair and kneeled at the fireplace hearth.  He'd already sent Percy on to the Ministry.  Better to show up for work as usual and not raise any suspicions.  _

Arthur ran his fingers over his head to straighten his hair… _and retain what little dignity I still have.  Nothing like looking like disgruntled poultry to instill confidence in the troops… _and stalled just a few moments more, his heart beating loudly in his chest, and his mouth dry.  _It's really happening._

The first steps had already been placed in motion.  The assault on the Dracontine Division required a coordinated effort between Wizards *and* Muggles.  

"Men in robes with pointy sticks aren't going to get much respect out of a Muggle, no matter *what* they can do in reality," Ellis had said wryly.  Ellis, one of Remus Lupin's mysterious acquaintances, had been instrumental in helping Arthur to unravel just what Fudge had been doing since becoming Minister, and even before.  

It was a conspiracy of staggering proportions, one which Arthur had been trying to investigate for nearly three years now.  It had been a fluke, really, and ridiculous irony that it was Arthur who had stumbled upon the necessity to go about gathering evidence against Cornelius Fudge.  

It was an investigation forced upon him by his own role within the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.  *And* his role within Dumbledore's trusted inner circle, the Order of the Phoenix.  How Fudge had gotten wind of the inquiry, Arthur still didn't know, but news of it forced Cornelius Fudge to begin a slander campaign designed to malign Arthur at every step.  Repeatedly he tried to shatter Arthur's credibility and force him out of office before the investigation could be completed.  _And he nearly succeeded…_

Arthur couldn't even remember *exactly* what Dumbledore had said that prompted his little voice to begin to question Fudge…  Something trivial, really, and totally unrelated.  A mild complaint about the constant loss of artifacts from the Grindelwald Recovery Foundation, and an expressed concern about the poor souls who would eventually find those objects within their possession.  

Of course the thefts would bother Dumbledore.  As the man who'd defeated Grindelwald, Dumbledore was well too aware of the dark wizard's legacy.  _Idle conversation…  Amazing where it leads._  Nothing came of it at the time, but the talk had planted a seed in the back of Arthur's mind…  There *was* something, wasn't there?  Something *he'd* noticed, his mind efficiently cataloging it away for future use, even while he'd dismissed it at the time.

What Arthur's memory was reminding him of was that the majority of disappearances of inventory coincided nicely with the length of employment at the Grindelwald Recovery Foundation of one Cornelius Fudge.  No one ever said anything, or even speculated about it, but Arthur had noticed it, dismissing it as happenstance.  He'd even made a dry comment to Molly about Fudge taking the artifacts with him to the Ministry as good luck charms.

The cursed items never turned up in the Wizarding community, but Arthur began to hear suspicious rumors stating that *some* of those objects may well be running amok in the Muggle world.  Of course, *he* wasn't equipped to investigate.  What he'd needed was someone to work the Muggle angle, investigate the rumors, and see what else they could unearth.  Dumbledore had referred Arthur to Remus Lupin.

Remus had proven to have an interesting assortment of *associates* at his disposal.  People who were able to collect large amounts of Muggle data with only short notice.  People who refused to divulge their sources, or even talk about what it was they *did* in the Muggle world.  After five such objects from Grindelwald's stores were successfully recovered, Arthur began to see a frightening pattern of *amnesia* as to how those objects were acquired.  It had smacked of Memory Charms, _Fudge's favorite equalizer in retrospect_, and a conspiracy.  

Fudge had stepped into the role of Minister much in the same way as nearly every Minister before him; he'd cleaned house and replaced all nominated positions with people he wanted.  People who likely wouldn't bat an eye at the private utilization of public departments for personal reasons.  

"Let's have Ellis start looking into deaths without an obvious cause?" Remus had politely suggested as Arthur explained his suspicions about the cursed items.  Remus' leap of logic had terrified him.  "Think about it.  If you suspect Fudge of using Memory Charms, what else would he use?  What sort of magic is pretty easy to find documentation of?  Cursed objects are tricky things.  Memory charms are worse.  If he's interacting with the Muggle world, dealing out dangerous objects, what would be his reasoning?"  Remus asked speculatively.  

"He's never been overly fond of Muggles," Arthur had replied.  He'd seen Fudge's contempt for most everything Muggle early on, back when Fudge was a junior member of the Department of Magical Catastrophes.  Remus nodded.  

"So he doesn't care if Muggles are hurt by what he's giving them.  But why do it?  Sport?  Power?" Remus had asked speculatively. 

"That seems unlikely.  He holds the highest office in the Ministry of Magic.  I don't see what the Muggle world could give him that he doesn't already have here," Arthur observed.

"How about wealth?" Remus asked.  That was a real possibility.  And could fit within what Arthur was beginning to believe was Fudge's worldview.  Fudge was fully capable of looking down upon Muggles while still happily growing rich from them.  He was also a man who had a reputation for fits of insecurity and a tendency to suck up to wealthy wizards and witches.  Lucius Malfoy in particular.  

Ellis was both diligent and thorough.  Soon a shocking number of recent, high profile Muggle political deaths began to come to light.  'Died peacefully in their sleep' took on a whole new, sinister meaning, most of which had begun happening since the beginning of Fudge's term as Minister.  The more Ellis and his associates searched, the more tenuous connections began to crop up between those 'killed' and the individuals who'd been given cursed gifts from Grindelwald's stores.

Unfortunately, though, there were no fresh bodies to look for traces of Dark Magic against.  And no suspects to tie Fudge to.  It was all still supposition and speculation.  _Like it all seems to be.  The man's as slippery as an eel.  Arthur's own discreet inquiries revealed no strange bank activity with any of Fudge's Gringotts accounts, and within the Ministry, it appeared there were two camps: loyal to Fudge or terrified of the man.  _

"Just because you aren't turning up anything concrete doesn't mean anything, Arthur.  It only proves Fudge isn't using Gringotts.  It makes sense that if he's trying to gain wealth from Muggles, that he'd hide his wealth *with* them.  Out of the public eye.  Let's have Ellis start tracing him and see if he's got Muggle bank accounts," Remus had suggested.  

It turned out that Remus had them himself, which intrigued Arthur.  Remus participated a great deal more with the Muggle world than most Wizards did.  The former professor once admitted that being an outcast of society made him equally able to traverse both the magical and Muggle world, as he was a member of neither.  

They soon learned Fudge *did* have Muggle accounts.  Evidently quite a few of them.  Perhaps more under different names, Ellis suggested.  But still, what did it get Arthur's investigation?  _Speculation, incriminating but not unexplainable evidence.__  Nothing concrete.  Arthur's inquiry from theft and misuse of enchanted Dark artifacts had grown to the possible abuse of power within the Department of Accidental Magic Reversal, but was still nearly useless in the face of a lack of hard evidence.   _

"Okay.  Let's take another stab at our first route of inquiry.  The bank accounts tell us nothing.  So, I suppose the next questions should be: Muggles are dying of what we believe to be the Killing Curse.  Who's doing the killing?  Fudge himself, or his lackeys?  Is he using the Ministry for this?   And if so, how?" Remus had murmured helpfully during one of Arthur's more frustrated moments.  That had been just recently, only since the beginning of the summer. 

And the answer had been blatently obvious.  Who within the Ministry had relatively free reign to do what 'was necessary'?  Who never had to worry about audits, and very rarely about inquiries?  Who would be perfectly equipped to do any and all of the Unforgiveables, and were licensed to do so?  Licensed to kill?  

If the mysterious deaths were indeed done by Wizards, than they'd likely Apparate in and use the Killing Curse on their victim in their sleep.  Who was trained in stealth and cunning, to act independently of authority?…  Accountable to none save three individuals…  One of which was the Minister of Magic?  The Unspeakables.   

Unfortunately, none of it could be proved.  The violations Arthur was speculating about spoke of conspiracy in the highest echelons and a level of corruption within the Ministry that was unprecedented.  It was also a far cry from petty theft.  But how had Fudge gone from peddling cursed objects to…  _that_?  It wasn't until the first photos of Fudge and Lucius Malfoy together trickled in that Arthur had his answer.  *Of course* Lucius would be involved if it meant the exploitation, corruption and death of Muggles.  _Bastard._

_Lucius Malfoy_…  Arthur felt his lip curl up in a snarl just thinking about him.  Ideally connected, immoral, and eager to wreak havoc on Muggle society.  _A monstrocity who has the nerve to try pass himself off as human_.  Malfoy's newly revealed relationship with Fudge certainly explained in retrospect why he'd targeted Ginny with that damnable diary.  

Lucius had *known* Fudge was under investigation.  He had targeted Arthur's youngest child, _my little girl_, with Dark Arts so sinister she still woke up screaming, her self-esteem so utterly decimated that it had taken years just to get her back to some semblance of what she once was.  

Ginny had nearly died from an echo, the mere ***memory* of a man so dark people didn't even speak his name.  His baby had lived with that monster inside her head because of Lucius.  Riddle had preyed on innocent fears and insecurities and corrupted Ginny's thoughts so badly that for *months* she couldn't be sure which were genuine thoughts and which were planted.**

Of course, Arthur couldn't ***prove* it.  Like he couldn't prove anything else.   _Just hints…  Smoke and mirrors.  Now you see him… now you don't.  _Dumbledore had told Arthur about what Harry had seen in the Chamber of Secrets only after extracting an oath not to avenge his daughter.  _And I didn't.  But that doesn't mean I _****won't. There are two men in this lifetime that I would have absolutely *no* remorse using *any* of the Unforgiveables on…  Okay, maybe three.**

Arthur had seen more than his share of classmates (_Slytherins__ especially) at Hogwarts who liked to *act* cruel, even evil.  Like they didn't have a conscience, like they didn't care.  Usually it was an act, to cover up the fact that they really *did* care, that other people's opinions really *did* matter.  Lucius wasn't pretending.  He was the first truly evil person Arthur had ever met, rotten even as a youth.  There were kids in school that made him uncomfortable, angry, even nervous, but never *afraid* for his own children's lives.  Until Lucius.  _

Bill, in his first year at Hogwarts, had accidentally stumbled across Lucius once, placing the Cruciatus curse against a fellow student.  He'd been acquitted, of course.  Bill had been so dazed and overwhelmed, even *he* had a hard time believing what he'd seen.  And being a first year, his head of house had more readily dismissed Bill's testimony as 'young and impressionable, with a healthy dose of overactive imagination'.  The student he tortured, Peter Pettigrew, refused to press charges as well.  As both Peter and Lucius were seventh years, it was decided to let them settle the matter amongst themselves.  

The experience changed Bill's perceptions: to see pure evil, to actually witness someone taking pleasure in another person's pain...  It was a life altering moment for his eldest son, and for Arthur as well.  Arthur promised himself he'd do everything in his power to insure his children wouldn't have to live through the terror and paranoia of Death Eaters, dark wizards, prejudice and bigotry.  Unfortunately, in retrospect, Arthur suspected it might well have been a life defining moment for Peter as well.  

That Lucius was ultimately a Death Eater was no shock.  When he'd first learned what a Death Eater *was*, Arthur knew Lucius had to be one, with his pureblood snobbery, his penchant for cruelty and his view of anything non-magical as inferior.  He was practically a poster child for it.  But Arthur eventually learned that Lucius never needed to bring Fudge to You-Know-Who.  He already had him wrapped around his little finger.  When the Death Eater attacks began in earnest, and Harry's dreams were at their worst, Fudge began an active campaign of misdirection that proved even more effective than the Death Eaters could have hoped for.  

Arthur still couldn't understand what drove Fudge.  It didn't make sense.  Even with all Fudge did and all he'd accomplished, he too had everything to lose if The Dark Lord won, didn't he?  Evidently Fudge didn't think so.  Fudge's obsessive urge to preserve the status quo had even offered up a scapegoat to buy him time.  Harry Potter. _ Time for what?  .  _

With his term nearly over, Arthur wondered what it had all been for.  Fudge knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that You-Know-Who was back.  Perhaps Fudge simply didn't want to have to *deal* with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.  He'd signed up as Minister for the perks, not the responsibilities, after all.  But through all the photos and Muggle evidence, Arthur still had no concrete proof that it was *Fudge* behind the disappearances, the cover-up.  He couldn't prove Fudge was corrupt, merely inept.  Which led Arthur to this moment…  

The assault on the Burrow was insult to injury.  For all Arthur *knew* about Fudge, he still couldn't touch the man.  But he'd finally been given the keys…  The Dracontine Division and the Grindelwald Recovery Foundation, amongst other things.  

Arthur recently learned that Dumbledore himself, shortly after Grindelwald's defeat, had catalogued all the items he'd recovered, magically sealing and archiving those scrolls in the catacombs beneath the main building.  Arthur had already seen the topside records and knew Fudge had tampered with evidence to cover his tracks.  He'd altered files and records and memories.  But *they* could be compared against Dumbledore's records, which were still intact and unaltered…  allowing Fudge's concealing charms to be revealed.  _Evidence at last.  And the magical fingerprints would still remain._

And as for the Dracontine Division…  The ash alone was enough for a Kiss, and they had a trail that could be traced back to Fudge.  Add to that the possibility of… Vid E. O.?  A Muggle instrument Percy had noticed, and Arthur had relayed back to Ellis, who'd been excited to hear about it.   

"Evidence," Ellis had said.  "You should be able to see who came and went, and what they've done."  This knowledge made the act of using Muggles and Wizards together in a raid not just helpful, but essential.

_Two final steps to set in motion._A raid on the Ministry itself to arrest Fudge before he escaped.  _If he even tries.  And the last step; the worst case scenario *everyone* feared: You-Know-Who's assault on Azkaban and his play to gain the Dementors as allies.  Two groups with two entirely different directives would go in: one to assist the Azkaban guards and keepers who would be the first line of defense against the Dementors; and one to rescue and bring back Harry Potter, if it wasn't already too late.  __We're almost there, Harry.  Just a little longer…_

Arthur was pleased with the witnesses that, with Percy's help, he'd lined up to testify about the Ministry's brutal interrogation of Harry.  Dumbledore broke the memory charms on Lane Albright, the Ministry Recorder present during the interrogation, over a week ago, and the man was desperate to help.  The little girl… Anne… Fudge had paraded Harry in front of, told her aunt and uncle about what she'd seen, and they'd approached Dumbledore days after Harry was imprisoned with her account.  

Evidently Dr. Happensdam, the man Fudge had contracted to administer the Veritaserum, was currently suspended from St. Mungo's pending the outcome of an investigation into inappropriate research testing on live subjects.  Arthur shivered at the thought.  _Merlin, Harry.  And people say you're lucky?  Happensdam, too, had worked at the Recovery Foundation around the same time as Fudge…  __Old friends._  Just how close?  _Arthur wondered.   __Thick as thieves?_

Dumbledore had brought at least three trusted St. Mungo's specialists that Arthur knew of and set them up in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts, on standby and ready for Harry's extraction from Azkaban _as well as any casualties from the assaults_.  Dumbledore's instructions were explicit:  bring Harry to Hogwarts at all costs, no matter *****what* his condition.  Arthur forced aside unbidden images his mind persisted in tormenting him with of Harry when he'd first arrived at the Burrow, knowing how much worse he must look now, after so much time in prison.  _Back to business, Arthur.__  Get him out of there._

"Forrest, Ellis, Charlie, Bill, Clifton, Ivan, Augusta, Sherman…  It's Arthur Weasley," he said into the fire, his voice firm and confident.  Now was the time that it all came together.  With shocking speed, faces began to pop up in the flames, smaller in size to fit all he'd summoned.  

"Sir?" Forrest Pickering asked, his voice stern and businesslike.  _Thank Merlin the children are gone_, Arthur thought, as one of the men who'd attacked the Burrow only recently now responded to his call.  _They were doing their jobs, Ron, but I know you'll never understand that.  Somehow, son, I think you're better for it_.  

"It's time, Forrest.  How soon will it take you to gather your men and prepare for Voldemort's full-on assault of Azkaban?" Arthur asked, naming The Dark Lord.  The only sound of stress Forrest made was a faint whistling sound with his teeth as he sucked in air, his eyes distracted as he mentally accounted for where everyone was.  

"Two hours, Arthur.  I assume you'll want us to dispatch immediately?" he asked, businesslike.  

"Intelligence indicates he's already sent emmisarries to the Dementors, and now seeks to solidify some sort of alliance," Arthur said.  

"Bad to worse," Forrest said as he nodded.  "Can we count on any Ministry assistance?" he asked frankly.  Arthur nodded.  

"You can, but not much.  It's going to be mayhem for a while till things get sorted out.  You may have as much as four hours on your own before I can tap into the Ministry's resources enough to send aid," Arthur said.  

"Death Eaters, too, I'm sure?" Forrest asked.  Arthur nodded.  

"Of course.  Last count had them at only twenty-five in his constant attendance, but that doesn't account for any he summons to aid him," Arthur stated.  

"How about wards and portkeys?  Priorities?" Forrest asked.  

"The wards will need to remain intact until *He* has breached them.  No sense opening a door for them.  I know it will interfere with your getting there.  There may be two other men, one of whom you're *quite* familiar with, also on the island," Arthur explained, as a later brief conversation with Dumbledore had revealed the possibility of Sirius Black and Remus Lupin both being present on the island as well.  

"Any possibility of the Ministry working against us?" Forrest asked.  Arthur shook his head.  

"No, not directly.  Just be clear in identifying yourselves.  Lucky for us the Death Eaters wear uniforms," Arthur said with a wry quirk of the lips.  

"Two directives, equally imperative, like we discussed?  The boy and reinforcements for the guards?" Forrest questioned.  Arthur nodded.  "How about the prisoners?  Any likelihood of resistance from them?"  

"Not at first.  Over time, away from the Dementors, they may regain their faculties, but for now…  Sirius Black was the most *aware* of any Azkaban prisoner, and, well, you know about him," Arthur said.  Forrest's eyes were flat, and abruptly Arthur remembered that Forrest was one of the Aurors present when Sirius was arrested.  _Sirius and Harry both.__  No wonder you're retiring after this, Arthur realized. _

"Two hours and I'll check in again.  My team will be ready for deployment within an hour and a half.  Are you coordinating things simultaneously?" Forrest asked.  Arthur nodded.  

"Yes, but not with your team.  That's dependant on Voldemort, not us.  Just get to Azkaban as fast as possible, and apprise me from there," Arthur instructed.  Forrest nodded.  There was a third agenda as well, not as important and certainly not spoken in front of others.  Forrest would be the most likely one to encounter Lucius Malfoy, and he knew how badly Arthur wanted him.  He wasn't to pass up on any opportunities.  _Dead or alive._  Doesn't matter much to me.  __

"Good luck, Arthur," Forrest said, his eyes determined.  

"And to you," Arthur said sincerely, well aware that Forrest's team was the most likely to take the largest amount of casualties.  

"Give my regards to Molly," Forrest said with a faint smile.  Arthur struggled to keep his voice from croaking with sentiment, pleased at still being able to sound calm.

"She said she expects you for dinner next week," Arthur said.  Forrest grimaced.  

"Perhaps tea would be safer for now… and I'll bring the tea and water," he observed dryly, then disappeared from the fire.  

"Ellis, Charlie, are your teams both ready to breach the Dracontine Divisioin?" Arthur asked.  Charlie nodded eagerly.  Arthur refrained from grimacing at imagining Charlie's reaction to the dragon Percy had found.  

He'd briefed Charlie in as much detail as possible to try to prepare him, but was still concerned that Charlie might be unable to keep perspective at such blatant abuse.  He didn't *think* Charlie would lose sight of the bigger goal.  _I hope not_.  Charlie was ideally qualified to lead this raid, but Arthur was also well aware how deep Charlie's passion for dragons went as well, and was concerned it might impair him.  

"Dad, I'll be good, I promise.  The poor bugger's lasted this long, he can last a bit longer," Charlie said, clearly reading Arthur's reluctance.  Arthur nodded.  That would have to do.  "My team has been staged with Ellis and his men for six hours now.  We're ready when he is."  

"My team is assembled as well.  Although I must say it's been ages since I've had such entertainment at the sake of my mates.  I had no idea they were all such cynics," Ellis said wryly.  Arthur smiled.  They'd discussed just last week what might be the best way to go about educating the rest of the Muggle team Ellis had chosen about Magic.  "We're ready now.  Just say the word," Ellis said, back to business.  Arthur nodded, pleased.  

"Bill, Clifton, are you both ready?" Arthur asked.  Bill nodded, nearly businesslike.  Only the eagerness in his eyes belied the calmness of his demeanor.  He was practically chomping at the bit to take on any curses Fudge and his lackeys may have set on the Recovery Foundation records and artifacts, and was uniquely qualified for his abilities at detecting magical signature centuries old, let alone decades.  Arthur knew Bill was hungry to take down Fudge for what he'd done to Harry, and that he was perfect for this job.

Clifton, on the other hand, looked almost bored.  A jaded veteran Auror, Clifton had deemed *this* raid to be far too mild for his liking, but cooperated nonetheless.  What he didn't quite realize was how essential it would be to begin producing evidence almost immediately to corroborate Arthur's accusations.  If Fudge's protests weren't instantly squelched, the Minister might have enough time to either start to cover his trail or put a *spin* out in the presses that might deflect some of the accusations Arthur was intending to level at him.   It was a chance Arthur wasn't willing to take.

"Just say the word, governor," Clifton said frankly.  Arthur nodded.  

"Ivan, Augusta, Sherman, are you ready for the publicity of your lives?" Arthur asked with a hint of a grin.  Augusta snorted, making Sherman raise an eyebrow in surprise.  

"Yes, well, I see that Rita Skeeter's back on the case, so I anticipate the most unflattering pictures of my life," she observed.  Arthur smiled slightly.  

"If it's any consolation, her Quick-Quotes Quill has been confiscated," Arthur said reassuringly.  

"Didn't know she could write without it," Sherman said in genuine surprise.  

"Is it wrong to admit how much I liked those articles?  I feel sort of cheap saying it," Ivan said in a mock falsetto.  

"Tart," Augusta shot out, and Ivan stuck out his tongue at her.  It was bizarre to watch three seasoned Unspeakables, *key* players in revealing the extent to which Fudge had unwittingly filled the Unspeakable ranks with Death Eaters, and eyewitnesses to some of the more sinister aspects of Fudge's indirect dealings with Muggles, bantering back and forth.

They'd appeared on Arthur's doorstep two days ago.  The last pieces in the puzzle.  Actual Veritaserum eyewitnesses to Fudge's wrongdoing.  They'd quietly been gathering evidence, disgusted as cronies of Lucius Malfoy began to fill their ranks, watching and learning what they could.  

In fact, it turned out that the majority of 'Aurors' present for Harry's interrogation were in fact Unspeakables Fudge had recently appointed, associates of Lucius Malfoy.  The Dark Lord had known almost instantaneously Harry's fate. 

Ivan, Augusta, and Sherman *knew* they had no one to go to, so they'd kept their heads low and tried to stay out of most of the immoral assignments.  They'd been ostracized by their peers, threatened for not *participating*, tormented and taunted.  The pranks against them had ranged from cruel to downright sinister: Pets dying, relatives receiving strange objects and letters clearly intended as threats…  

Arthur had taken no chances, questioning them each extensively with Veritaserum before allowing them into his designs, and the picture they'd each presented was impressive.  Three friends, co-workers, who'd watched as those around them either had 'accidents' or cooperated.  They'd made a pact to come forward when the moment was right, making arrangements to hide their family and friends indefinitely to weather the storm of Ministry inquiries that would inevitably happen within the Unspeakables Division.   How they'd perceived that that moment was *now* Arthur still didn't know, but privately he suspected Dumbledore might have had something to do with it.  

But the three friends who were now bantering playfully were as deadly as they came, uniquely qualified to go in quick and get their quarry.  They were perfect for Arthur's purposes.  He wanted to use as little manpower as necessary to arrest Fudge, but knew the man could prove a high flight risk, if he realized the extent of the evidence against him.  It would be high profile, and the image Arthur conveyed to the rest of the Wizarding world of *how* he was going about investigating Fudge was just as important as *why*.  Dozens of wizards chasing down the Minister to detain him wasn't an image he wanted to see in the Daily Prophet.

"Say the word, Arthur," Sherman said, abruptly all business.  

"We're ready to end our careers with a bang," Augusta confirmed dryly, the glint of steel in her eyes promising credibility to her words.  

"Then, Ladies, Gentlemen, the word is given.  Be careful, be thorough, and let's just do this once, shall we?  It begins now," Arthur said, and watched as all the faces blinked out of the fireplace, leaving the gentle pop and crackle of flame behind, heart heavy with the knowledge of what they were all about to face.    

**********************************************************************

Cornelius Fudge was not a foolish man.  He knew the walls were beginning to close in around him.  He could feel it itching under his skin, like unwanted scrutiny.  _Will it be that nit, Weasley? He wondered, as he strode through the halls of the Ministry towards his office.  For such a bumbling man, Arthur Weasley had proven more tenacious than a bull terrier.  _Even little nipper dogs leave scars.  _He could see the signs; Dumbledore's *secret* visit to the Potter boy in Azkaban, the disappearance of three Unspeakables with questionable loyalty, and of course those bloody articles…  _

"Good afternoon, Minister," his harried secretary said with only the faintest veneer of politeness as he passed through her office to enter his own.  Lucius wasn't the only one ducking owls, and Shirley was obviously getting frazzled at the howlers that were starting to come her way.  _Tough_.  He nodded, but didn't bother to answer.

Those articles had proven themselves a menace.  The only thing he could figure was that that shrew of a reporter actually, truly *did* happen to be in the neighborhood, and snapped some pics.  He had followed her articles for years, and knew full well there was *no* way she'd done any actual reporting.  Most of her *facts*, he'd bet his savings on Dumbledore having fed her.  

It annoyed him that he'd lost control of his favorite disinformation medium.  Wherever the harpy had gone for the summer, she'd certainly returned with a bang.  Lucius was avoiding his owls, and the only people who lately *wanted* to see him were people he didn't want to see.  

He had it all planned.  Survive the term as Minister of Magic without having to deal with all-out war, retire to some lovely tropical Wizarding community, and offer sage advice to the next poor bastard who took his place within the Ministry.  He'd thought about it long and hard…  The Muggle world had proven a fertile place for a manipulative Wizard unafraid to wield his magic, especially in regards to finances.  

It would have been so much simpler if he'd ever learned to *tolerate* Muggles.  If Cornelius had ever planned to simply disappear into the Muggle world, he would have done so at the first Daily Prophet article.  As it was, he had no intention of relinquishing his rightful place among his fellow Wizards.  And he'd gone to great lengths to insure that if the worst came to pass, he was *definitely* covered.  

Amos Diggory, in a pathetic sympathy ploy by the Ministry, was promoted to replace Barty Crouch Sr. as head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.  As of yesterday, Diggory still had yet to be introduced to his less commonly known duties as Secondary Liaison with the Unspeakables.  Not that *they* hadn't thought they'd been working with Amos for months now.  At least as far as the scrolled records went.  Any written orders or correspondence of any sort was always signed by Diggory, _magically, of course_.  The primary Liaison for the Unspeakables would have been the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but as Fudge had purposely held up any appointments to that position, he'd been able to remain acting Primary in the interim.

It was serendipitous that Crouch had chosen to mentally vacate months before he finally perished.  He'd been so easy to push and manipulate.  Cornelius had been horrified to learn of his son's presence at his father's home.  Barty Crouch Jr. could very well have overheard Cornelius' initial intimidation and browbeating of Crouch to relinquish control of The Unspeakables.  The opportunity to silence Crouch's son permanently was too good to pass up.  He'd instructed the Dementor to give the Kiss before they'd even entered the room.  That it also prevented any Veritaserum testimony of You-Know-Who's return was all a bonus.  

The Unspeakables *had* been directionless, idle.  _Wasted resources.  Cornelius changed all that, with Lucius' thoughtful guidance and assistance…  Cornelius smiled wickedly at the thought of his collegue's face when he realized that a great deal of the Minister of Magic's paper trail of incrimination would eventually lead directly back to the Malfoy estate.  Lucius was a snob of the highest order, and it pleased Cornelius greatly to visualize the imperious Malfoy as he sat back and watched Cornelius' enemies finally gain an upper hand, sipping his brandy elegantly and tut-tutting with a glint in his eye, oblivious to the very evidence that would ultimately fall off Cornelius' shoulders and point directly at Crouch first, then Diggory, and finally Lucius Malfoy.  _And you thought you were manipulating me.__

Yes, he knew a storm was brewing, and he fully intended to weather it.  Besides, with You-Know-Who back, Dumbledore had bigger fish to fry anyway.  _Except you took his Boy Wonder._  Unfortunate, that.  But necessary.  The Daily Prophet was raising far too big a fracas about missing wizards, and he'd needed a decoy.  

_Three months left_.  Three months until he retired as Minister, and truthfully, he couldn't care less what happened then.  His estate was in order, and even though he'd never allied himself with You-Know-Who, he fully expected to be left alone on *that* front as well.  _It's all gravy.  I needed a scapegoat, and He-Who-Mus-Nott-Be-Named has certainly been after the boy for long enough.  He'd learned early within the Ministry that it was *all* about favors; what you owed, and what you collected._

He was quite proud of himself and all he'd set in motion, and for a moment it didn't register that someone else was in his office as he closed the door behind him.  

"Petrificus Totalus," a prim voice said firmly, and Cornelius Fudge could only stare forward in surprise as he fell backwards, abruptly giving him a view of his own ceiling.  Red hair came into view, as his priggish assistant stood over his fallen body.  "I'll bet you thought of everything, didn't you?" Percy Weasley asked as he crouched over Cornelius' petrified form.  _Even his nose hairs are red, Cornelius thought distractedly.  He watched, beginning to be thoroughly miffed as Percy pulled the wand from Cornelius' coat pocket and looked up, smiling slightly.  __I'll have your job for this.  See if you ever work within the Ministry again._

"I don't think he *was* a flight risk, really," a voice Cornelius vaguely recognized said from somewhere behind him.  

"Yes, but I wanted him to know *now* that it wouldn't work," Percy said, and looked back down at Cornelius.  He kneeled once more, his face merely inches from Cornelius', and whispered, "Shame on you, trying to set up a man still grieving over the loss of his son.  Oh, we found it…  And those memory charms on Lane and myself?  For what you did to Harry alone, I hope you get the Kiss."  

Percy Weasley gathered his robes around him as he stood, as if trying to reclaim some lost dignity, his hands clenched at his side.  His *former* assistant didn't look at Cornelius again, he simply nodded at whomever was behind him, turned on his heel and left the room.  

"Well hello, love.  Looks like a party to me.  What do you think?" a feminine voice he finally placed as one of the missing Unspeakables asked playfully.  _Augusta.  _

"That was Arthur's boy, wasn't it?" a masculine voice asked.  Still frozen in place, Cornelius had no choice but to continue looking forward, unable to see the faces of the people milling about him.  

"With that hair?  Of course it was.  Percy, his name is," a third voice, deeper and scratchier asked.  _Ah.  All three of my missing Unspeakables. __This must be Sherman.  They've all taken orders from me directly.  They're eyewitnesses.  On their own, it could be easy.  *They* most certainly aren't saints.  Their word against mine.  But Lane, too?  Bugger.  Bugger.  Bugger. Bugger. _

"I heard…" the other man started to say, then paused.   

"We've all done things we're not proud of, Ivan.  At least he's trying…" Augusta interrupted solemnly, then her face swarmed into view.  "And as for you, Minister.  We're going to *make* you care," she promised softly, eyes hard and unforgiving.  

_How did Weasley even know he *had* a memory charm?  What went wrong?  _Cornelius could feel his heart beating like a frightened rabbit's, his mind racing to try to grasp what was happening.  Only one person Cornelius knew of could have broken through memory charms.  _Dumbledore.  He felt himself rise in the air as he was floated out of his office.  A quick glimpse of his secretary, Shirley, allowed the final piece of the puzzle to fall into place.  _But how could anyone have known I set Diggory up?  _Her face held a grim look of satisfaction as he drifted past her.  __She helped them.  My secretary betrayed me.  _

"You remember that little girl you brought to Harry Potter's interrogation?  Anne is my niece.  You better hope he's still alive," she hissed, and waived gaily, eyes alight with manic glee as he left the room.  "Cheers!" she called, and Cornelius felt his house of cards crumble as all his careful plans unraveled_.    There was no where for him to run now._

**TBC…………..**

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**Author's Notes**:  Thank you to everyone who's been reviewing and checking up on me.  I know it may *seem* that I dropped off the planet, but really I just moved to the edge of it. g  Oh, great news:  he likes it!  He really likes it!  ahem  Sally Field moment.  Pardon that.  

Thanks for your patience with how long it's taken me to update.  I appreciate all the kind words and *really* insightful reviews.  Manna for the muse, all of it!  

**And now, for the more detailed responses**: (It's just feedback at this point, so if you're looking for more chapter, scroll up!):

Alia, Ralia (I absolutely do as well!  And I'm the one putting him through this!  g), leaf, Lamina Court (I know!  I know!  And here *I* am trying to finish my story before then, too! g), FleccaHPFan (I used to post once a week.  I'm trying to get back to that, but will settle on two or three at this point.  Darn that RL anyway!), FireBird9900 (Not telling), wonder (*blushes happily*), Ashura (Thank you), Sabrina (Ah.  Is one's work for Dumbledore *ever* truly done?), Starlette (lol  I've thought about that!  *Previously, on NANA… * g ), Temporal (Peter has proven interesting to write.  Glad you like him.), Khatt (lol  I wish!), Marauderette (Has Percy redeemed himself a little more?), kokopoko (lots of speculations!  You'll find out soon!), Kanashimi (hehehehe.  Thanks!), Larissa (Sure!), dying angel (She is indeed!  As for that second one…  That'll come later this Spring or early Summer.  Thank you!  Great news on that front.  He likes it so much he's become my second beta reader (actually, more of a reality check before I post)), Cas (g), Sakura Blossom (Hope I'm still living up to that kind review's assessment of tying the story to canon g.  Yep, that's what my goal is, too!), Smego Baggins (Thanks!), Kathy( Welcome!  Watch out.  It is *definitely* addictive!  I'm glad you like him!), psychochick (Feel better about Fudge now?  g  Thanks!), Sherylyn (hehehehe…  Thanks for recommending my fic!  Too true.  Too true indeed), Suna (*giggles*  Okay.  Go to bed, now. g), stormyfire (Thanks!), Lisa (I appreciate that.  I'm trying!), Prami (*pokes back*  8-)  You crack me up.  g.  Angst: A feeling of anxiety or apprehension often accompanied by depression), Annison Crane (Thank you!), ratgirl (lol),  Lady Rusel Holmes (I'll try), penpunk (They are, aren't they?), Chris Atola (Hope you like the Fudge angle), Amber (okay), Maegnas_is_my_name (Don't do that! You have to be conscious to be able to review g), black panther (She is just fine.  Thank you for asking.  Actually, he isn't a writer, he's a computer guy…  He loves to *collect*, but other than that… ), Debz (I obviously need to watch one of those.  I do get the BBC channel…  lol  You don't *need* to, but you certainly can!  No, please don't do it!  I couldn't bear to read a review song based upon Blur music!),  Darfs etwas mehr sein (No, just vegetating amidst boxes I haven't seen for months),  Shellie (Here you go!), Freak (no, my muse isn't dead.  Just slightly drunk), marauder-kinchu (A dream I had that I've been expanding upon), tempest in blue (I was so close to posting, I hated to throw up an AN first.  I felt like it would be too much of a tease.  The last time I put up an AN first, I got 50/50 feedback about whether people appreciated it or not.),  LC( RL happens.  lol about the reviews comment), sarah (*bump bump yourself!*  hehehehe…  Those crack me up…), Wytil (Goofball writers?!  Cloud coocoo land?  Nice.  RL happens.  Deal.), Tanya (Thank you.  I really appreciate that.  It's coming!  It really is!), Julie Kreisher (Excellent!  Thank you for doing that!), BenJonBroad (Love that fic, too), Death upon matter (lol  Hope that's addressed that.  g), fairy cheese, Luciana (You sound just fine.  Thank you), Red (I'm pleased that you did.  I'm glad you like it, and hope you're pleased with what's happened so far), HavenKane (Ta da!  Here you go!  Thanks for the recommend!), Andrea13 (lol), Miranda Wecker (certainly!), Toffee (How about a chapter update instead?):  The general consensus for this chapter appears to be that you enjoyed the analytical breakdown of magic.  Thanks for all your nice reviews, and I hope you had fun with Fudge this chapter!

Lia Santana:  Yikes.  Glad you liked the DD. I was worried about that.  Me too.  I appreciate that.  Ah, you caught that.  The whole 'two sides of the same coin' thing… g  No, you actually didn't.  I thought long and hard about how *anyone* would react to what happened, and it made sense that while the twins have shared so much together that their emotional growth would also likely go at about the same rate, an incident like this, and how it affected *each* of them, would alter that path.  One twin was forced to realize the mortality of someone he loves.  The other, who experienced it, wouldn't perceive it in nearly the same way.  He would be more likely to watch the dynamics of the family fall apart and be far more concerned about *that* than a limp.  They do, don't they?  8-)  

Windcall:  Hmmm.  Believe it or not, I'm basing it off what JKR has hinted at herself.  Even she won't guarantee if Harry lives or dies by the end of the series.  lol  I see your point, though.  Hang on just a little bit more…  

Insane Pineapple from Naboo:  I like a whole variety of romance, believe it or not.  It's just rare for me to find it believable.  I don't lean towards any one, as I'm willing to give them all a try.  Interesting insight.  I like that one.  Well, I'd hardly call this latest update fast.  But I'm working on it.  

Alias:  Boy, have I caught a lot of heat about that POV switching, too!  8-)  I think 'Nice Snape' is an oxymoron.  g  You're spot on about the hugging, though.  Can you believe that I think it's *my* need to comfort everyone coming through?  So, yes, I agree.  But I do argue that extenuating circumstances could *technically* allow for more hugging, etc. than would normally occur.  Harry's too sick to be self-conscious about it, and poor Sirius…  I imagine his first instincts are to pull Harry close and snap out at anyone who'd try to harm him.  There is so little else he *can* do for him.  Ah, yes…  I see your point, and when I sat down and thought about it…  Even though I haven't done a day-by-day account, several months could *easily* have passed.  Thus being said, I wave my magic wand (hope no one lynches me for taking the liberty) and send everyone off to school.  poof  Hmmm.  I'll have to reread those.  Easily fixed in a repost.  I'll have to reread that one as well.  I think what I was conveying was that he believes the dreams are *based* on magic.  But I could have blown that.  I'll try to check.  Lots addressed this chapter.  Lots still to come.  Thanks for the thoughtful review!  Hope I continue to entertain!  

Venus4280:  Snape is such a jerk of a character in canon, that I felt to properly incorporate him into this story and *not* totally despise him, his POV *had* to be heard…  real time.  If nothing else, it has certainly helped *me* get a handle on who he is, and what drives him.  It's also made him a joy to write.  Truthfully, this is the first time I've ever posted *anything* for anyone to read.  I've said it before, but I definitely feel it's the smartest thing I've ever done.  It's allowed my writing to grow, and you're not the first to say so.  It's taught me a lot about pacing, and continuity.  It's certainly the *longest* piece I've ever done.  I'm the original writer/rewriter, who rewrites so many times she gets sick of the story and starts on something new.  By posting, it's *forced* me to quit second-guessing myself.  Once I've written something, had it beta'd (another new experience, and an invaluable one at that), and proofed it, I commit it to the internet. g  By doing so, it's allowed me to overcome obstacles I didn't even know I had.  I am excited to finish this story and try my chops on an original one.  After celebrating ridiculously, I hope the next step takes my writing to where I want it to go:  getting published.    

Omi721:  Wow.  Well, thank you for making it me! 8-)  Truthfully, so do I.  Hopefully, I've helped make the timeline make more sense by sending Ron, Ginny and the twins back to school.  But you're right… I haven't worried about it too much, because there's no way Harry would know.  Sadly, you're analysis of the amount of time passed is far more detailed than my own at this point.  My bad.  I like your theory about the link, but truthfully, I'd intended for the link to remain intact relatively easily.  The initial spell was based on dislike, as it had to be to get beyond the Dementors, but what now remains is pretty solid.  Actually, you could look at it as:  Dementors feed off of positive emotions.  For Harry to get some hope would give the Dementors more to feed off of.  But no, he fades because he's losing strength.  If there is nothing conscious to connect *to*…  How will that work?  8-)  Liked the spell check comment.  I'm working on making it clearer. Thanks for the review!

Lilahp:  I'm working on that!  8-)  Fair enough.  Really?  Excellent.  Heck, *I* didn't expect to get Percy as well as I have.  lol  You're absolutely right.  Snape is a blast to write.  I agree.  And rightfully so.  Nope, certainly not.  Very true.  I'm not sure about that.  I have some original stories I'm chomping at the bit to get back to, but who knows…  If JKR takes as long to write Book 6 as she's taken to write Book 5, I could very well be back.  Thank you for the recommends, and I'll endeavor to finish before Book 5!  He likes it!  He likes it!  *breathes a deep sigh of relief*  

Green Eyed Knight:  Ah, I'm glad you liked that.  You know, I could play Devil's Advocate here and say their responses could be viewed as two sides of the same coin.  8-)  But, no, that's not truly how I see them.  I imagine that they maintain their identical appearances for the sake of pranks only.  Otherwise, they *would* have different interests and opinions.  

Hillary: Wow.  Thank you *very* much.  No, I'm not going anywhere *near* a Dumbledore POV.  I agree.  It's like showing the actor in the scary suit rather than letting the shadows inspire your own imagination.  Yes, that sentence did.  Personally, I've always kind of felt like there's so much unresolved and glossed over in the stories, and I *really* wanted them brought forward for inspection.  It's sad to say that truly the simplest characters in the HP universe (and don't lynch me for saying it.  Think about it.  It's true!) are Ron and Hermione.  They truly are their age in so many ways, yet Harry…  I've heard others say that Harry was *never* his age, and I tend to agree.  The adults in HP are what are so complicated (besides Harry, of course, and one could argue that *he* is pretty simple, too).  Snape, Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore… Heck, even Hagrid.  Think about it.  The poor guy is *still* discriminated against for being half giant, and he's never gotten his wand back.  Undoubtedly, he wasn't even able to finish his education because of what Riddle did.  Okay.  I'm rambling now.  I'll reel it in.  8-)  

Unwritten Law:  Keep in mind, she doesn't have her Quick Quill Quotes, either.  8-)  I was using those articles as template, and realized that wouldn't be appropriate anymore.  Hadn't thought about the beetle angle.  

Aeryn Alexander:  Wow, thank you!  I do try to weave canon plotlines throughout the story, and love delving into the various characters' thoughts.  JKR has provided an amazing range of complicated characters, and I spend entirely *too* much time thinking about them, their history, what drives them.  I'm touched by your comments about the tone of the story.  I appreciate that.  Would you believe I started this story as a way to kill time until Book 5, and to get Harry out of the Dursleys for the summer, since I was appalled he was going back there?  Ah, enjoyed that movie myself.  Hadn't thought about it, though.  Hmmm.  BTW, I've enjoyed your thoughts as you progressed through the story.  It's been fun!

L e B o S h I: Believe it or not, this plotline is based on an HP dream I had one night.  Ah, actually just *outside* Hogwarts.  You busted me.  8-)  Semantics.  I knew what I meant, just not what I said.  You know, I'm not sure where that saying originated.  The first time *I* heard it was in That Thing You Do with Liv Tyler and Tom Hanks.  It was a cute movie.   

JKJoling: 8-)  He does, doesn't he?  I absolutely agree.  Yes, well, there's *lots* of debate out there about Dumbledore, how much he knows, and how much he allows.  I'm curious how mine will stand up.  Hehehehehe…  I get carried away, too!  I hear you!  Personally, I don't see Skeeter as having an altruistic bone in her body.  But hey, as long as the facts get published, who cares about her motives!  Well, I really do intend to try to get the next chapters out faster.  I've been moving, and am finally starting to settle (or at least am getting used to ignoring the boxes g).  These next chapters will have a lot more action, too, so that might make it more time consuming.  I'll certainly try.  My goal is to have the story finished before JKR comes out with Book 5.  Thanks for recommending me, and the great review!  I think you're on the After the End mailing list, aren't you?  *Love* that fic!  8-)

Moonlight:  Glad you liked the explanation of magic.  It took me a while to think one up for Cruciatus!j

Indigo Ziona:  Wow!  I've really enjoyed reading your reviews!  Nope, I haven't read Terry Pratchett.  Hehehehe…  Would you believe I'm normally quite a cheerful person?  Wow.  What a quote.  It certainly captures a lot of what I'm trying to convey.  Very powerful stuff.  Thank you.  I did get a chance to read Touched, but haven't had the opportunity to review it.  I certainly enjoyed it!  Yes, it was interesting tracking his growth and development.  I'll have to go read that essay you mentioned.  I'm intrigued!  So do I…  Heh, thank you.  I never knew that one.  Interesting.  I always wondered why the older children's stories seemed so… dark.  Curiously enough, the HP Wizarding world if very much that way.  Childlike in it's use of magic, and stunted within it's own bureaucracy.  Ah…  Nicely summarized.  Hopefully, I won't disappoint.  

Lucia Iris Legaia Tanaka (snickers  Heh, caught that, did you?  Okay.  In order:  We'll see.  Hmmm.  Working towards that.  Hehehehe… He grows on you, doesn't he?  I hadn't planned on writing much of an epilogue, but we'll see.  8-)

Lothey: I haven't forgotten my promise.  I think it'll be in two or three more chapters!  


	35. Rescue?

**Disclaimer**:  Although I spend entirely too much time *obsessing* about Harry Potter, he's not mine.  I'd like to say I'd treat him better, but considering what type of story this is (_Angst_), I think it's safe to say *that* isn't happening, either.  Alas…

**Author's Note**:  To all of you who reviewed disagreeing with what age I estimated Lucius to be…  I've always envisioned him to be somewhat of a contemporary of Snape rather than Arthur.  I felt the animosity between Arthur and Lucius stemmed from Lucius' escaping justice during the original Death Eater trials.  That, and the fact that he's remained a prominent citizen who wields considerable political weight within the Wizarding community.  So, while there were some very well thought out arguments to the contrary which I thoroughly enjoyed (_Thank you very much!), for this story Lucius is not Arthur's age.  _

Oh, and I would like to humbly request that *before* you review this chapter, read the Author's Note at the bottom as well! g

**Chapter 35**

Sirius kept his eyes closed as he breathed the ocean air deeply.  

"Are you sure, Sirius?  We've been out here for over an hour now," Remus asked, his voice just barely audible over the straining whine of the little motorboat they'd procured and the waves that crashed against the sides, buffeting them about.  Sirius nodded.  

_How do I explain it so that it makes sense?  That I can smell Azkaban; the pain, the madness; even in my human form... Well, actually Moony *might* know._  Sirius shook his head distractedly."I'm positive.  Trust me when I tell you, we're close," Sirius said, his voice rough with suppressed emotion.  _I'm coming, Harry.  We're coming_.  

"It's going to rain soon.  Charm your robes now," Remus instructed.  Sirius opened his eyes to look at his friend.  _He looks tired_.  His normally pale face was gray with fatigue and worry, his eyes solemn as unexpressed concerns and fears remained a tangible entity between them, unspoken but understood.  _Is he alive?  Will he be sane?  Are we in time?  Have the Dementors already __been turned?  Is Voldemort already there?  _Sirius charmed his robes obediently, well aware of Remus' remarkable ability to sense weather changes, just as he could tell unerringly what time of the day it was without needing to use the sun or how far away the full moon was.  _Will you know me, Harry?  _

Sirius knew Remus was watching him with concern as he once again closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, raising his arm and pointing slightly to the right.  He'd charmed his stubble off after a quick glance at his reflection in the water as he'd stepped into the skiff, illuminated by the dock lighting, but knew he still looked a mess.  Remus adjusted the course of the boat, familiar now with their unusual mode of navigation.  Sirius' robes were stiff with salt water, dried by the charms that would now protect him from the sudden drizzle of rain.  

Thankfully, the stormy sea calmed a little as the front drifted past them, settling into a thick misty rain that reduced visibility (not that there was much anyway in the predawn grey) and shrouded the skiff, muffling the whine of the motor.  

Moony was remarkably adept at handling the small boat, comfortable with its operation.  _You've been busy while I was away.  Evidently, he was quite proficient at moving around in the Muggle world, as also evidenced with the ease in which he found where the nearest docks were and in acquiring coastal charts and maps._

To Sirius the engine sounded as if at any moment it was going to explode, but Remus had repeatedly assured him it would not.  As far as Muggle machinery went, Sirius was more accustomed to the rumble of a motorcycle; the low growl of power.  The frantic, high pitched source of locomotion that propelled them along made him shift the oars inside the boat nervously, hooking them underneath the seat securely, confident they would be using them anytime now.  

The faintest, subtlest tingle of magic heralded the cut of the motor, the sudden silence eerie in its finality.  Remus turned and began pulling on a cord, rocking the boat unnervingly as he did so, trying to start the engine again, but Sirius was already pulling out the oars.  

"Don't bother, Moony.  We've already passed the anti-Muggle charms.  This is the last barrier.  Nothing Muggle-made will work beyond this point.  We'll have to row quickly.  The currents here are strong enough that stranded boats drift out of range of the island in a matter of minutes," Sirius said, setting the oars into the small metal holders on either side and bracing his feet as he pulled fiercely, ignoring the sting of salt on hands (_paws_) raw from brutal travel, gratified as the boat surged forward.  

"Sirius…"

A memory long buried had resurfaced as they'd approached the island which had reminded him about the anti-Muggle wards.  He'd remembered a day in Azkaban when an echo of voices reflected off the rugged shores and into his tiny cell.  Not screams or sobs…  It was a casual conversation.  Stranded Muggles, not yet concerned about their plight, joking with false bravado as they struggled to restart their motorboat.  It took so little time for them to drift past, with only the sound of the motor burbling back to life as proof that the currents had carried them beyond the magical barriers.  

He'd only heard it once, in his Animagus form…  The briefest, most beautiful connection to the outside world Azkaban would ever provide.  _No.  That's not true.  The Daily Prophet photo of the Weasley family was *that*_.  He couldn't laugh as Padfoot, but he could howl, and for a few precious hours his mind was able to drift away with the hapless Muggles, his imagination following them as they returned to shore, returned to their mundane lives, until the Dementors took even that away…

"Are you listening?…" 

He could smell it plainly now.  _Death._  Insanity._  _Terror.___  Grief.  Loss.  Desperation.  Failure.  _We're close.  _Sirius wondered as he allowed his senses once again to shift the boat's direction (__That's it.  Slightly more to the right).  He began to pant for breath, his back and shoulders burning with a fatigue that threatened to overwhelm him at any moment.  He knew he'd been going on pure adrenaline for quite a while now, but he also knew it would carry him through.  _It has to.__

"Padfoot, look at me…"  

Sirius felt a rise of panic when the next gasp of air told him that the island's scent had shifted from the right to the left side of the boat.  _Merlin, we're passing it already.  Too fast.  The current's too fast, Sirius thought desperately as he tried to pick up the pace.  _

"Sirius, let me," Moony said, and placed his hand over Sirius' own, ceasing Sirius' rowing, gently pulling his cramped fingers from the oars, his eyes dark with worry.  _Of course.  Sirius immediately released the oars and moved out of the way, placing himself at the back of the skiff where Remus had originally been sitting, feeling foolish.  __When did he move forward from the back of the boat?  Focus.  I should have had him rowing to begin with.  __Dumb, Sirius._  Think.  __

The boat's sudden onrush of speed startled Sirius as Moony began rowing.  Sirius was so accustomed to Remus' gentle nature that he often forgot the enhanced werewolf strength that the man possessed.  Glancing down at his hands, Sirius noticed that his palms were bleeding again, the cracks that Moony had just recently healed now split open, red welts against filthy skin.  _Not a good sign_.  And nothing he could afford.  _At least not my wand hand.  The next whiff told Sirius that the island was once again on the right side of the boat, and Sirius felt the panic that had threatened to overwhelm him quell.  He wiped his hands on his robes, comforted by the warmth the fabric radiated, then ran his fingers through his hair, pushing the wet strands off his face.  __Better._

It felt good to be finally going after Harry directly.  _I should have done it to start with_.  It was naïve of Harry to think his testimony would help, and ridiculous of Sirius to take up the quest to capture Peter when Harry's approach failed.  _Damn Dumbledore anyway.  Sirius knew why he'd done it, even if it *was* foolish in retrospect.  It was the hatred which drove him; the obsession that had returned full-blown once Harry was arrested.  __Pettigrew._  This is all Peter's doing.  _Even if he'd procured the damned rat and produced him for the world to see, Fudge would still have found away to condemn him… and Harry.  _

_Please be alive, Harry_.  _Don't let me be too late.  _It was more of a mantra than a prayer.   Sirius didn't have much faith in Dumbledore anymore.  _How could you?  Why did you even give him the choice?  For that's what he'd done.  Sirius had had *lots* of time to reflect about it, and certain things hadn't added up.  _It was the talk.  After Harry's birthday._  Dumbledore had given Harry a portkey… and a choice, then.  Sirius well remembered how shaken Harry was after their private conversation.  __Merlin.  __He just turned fifteen! __You couldn't even let him have one day of peace. Sirius felt his lip curl in rage. _

"How much further?" Remus interrupted Sirius' thoughts.  Deliberately.  "You're growling again."  _Ah_.  

"Not more than a few minutes," Sirius replied, his voice hushed.  The waves had gotten progressively smaller as the skiff drew closer to shore.  A large cluster of rocks in the distance, treacherous to larger ships, acted as breakers for the biggest swells, protecting the island from the harshest gales.

"Do you know where he is?" Remus asked softly, taking Sirius' cue to speak quietly.  

"Yes," Sirius replied.  "He's near where I was held,"  _It__ will take longer to find him if they moved him.  Time we can ill afford.  Let him still be there.  Remus raised an eyebrow inquisitively, but remained silent.  _

"We should have gotten him earlier," Sirius said, his voice flat.  Remus' eyes looked at Sirius sharply.  Then, reluctantly, he nodded.  

"I think you're right.  *He* should never have been used as a distraction," Remus stated, and Sirius abruptly realized that Remus wasn't referring to Fudge's actions against Harry… he meant Dumbledore.  Moony had explained in detail all he'd been able to glean of the coordinated attacks against the Ministry that Arthur Weasley was currently orchestrating.  

"If we get him…" Sirius began.

"*When* we get him…" Remus interrupted.

"I'm never letting him out of my sight.  He's not going anywhere *near* Hogwarts…"

"That might be a touch extreme.  What about Ron and Hermione?  Besides, you can't turn him into a hermit…" Remus said.  

"Bah.  They can visit.  He doesn't like the fame anyway…" Sirius stated.

"…just because you are…" Remus finished.  

"Besides, you're a professor.  What you can't teach him, others we know can," Sirius announced with certainty, as if the plan were already in place.  

"Sirius…  If he were in our care, even at Hogwarts, he wouldn't be in the danger he has been in," Remus replied, saying aloud the truth they both knew.  It was the truth that, once Sirius had realized it, left him breathless with shock and disappointment.  

If Harry *had* proper guardians in his life…  If James and Lily had been alive, they would have never allowed him to be in danger.  _Choice?__  Wouldn't have happened.  Broken bones from Quidditch was one thing…  Voldemort another entirely.  __Merlin, after first year alone they probably would have homeschooled him. _

While some of what Harry had faced at Hogwarts could not have been prevented, some of it *could* have.  Left as it was, with the Dursleys as guardians, ergo Dumbledore as the primary caregiver, Harry's life was in the hands of a man who was looking out for the best interests of the wizarding community…  _Not Harry's_.  

Sirius forced himself not to think about Harry those last few days at the Burrow, and how much worse he must look now.  Instead, he distracted himself with speculating what the spell was Remus had explained to him about that connected Snape to Harry.  _Then again… maybe that's not much better_.  

Remus paused a moment to reach his hand back to massage the back of his neck wearily, obviously trying to stave off a headache before he resumed rowing again.  _He looks so tired.  He looks old.  We both do.  I don't want him to see this.  I wish I could get Harry on my own_.  

"There's some Pepper-Up in the satchel at your feet," Remus said.  "Why don't you pull out a couple?"  Sirius scowled as he leaned over and fished through the bag, finding the vials easily.  

"Just what are you insinuating, Moony?  That I need two?" Sirius growled grumpily.  Remus raised an eyebrow ironically.  

"No…  That we both need one.  Although there's another in the bag if you think you need more," he answered.  Sirius squinted in annoyance as he downed the draft and handed a vial to Moony.  

"He's young and resilient, Sirius.  He's so much stronger than we could have ever hoped for," Remus said reassuringly with steam still faintly coming out of his ears as he set aside the vial and resumed rowing again.  But Sirius could also see the lurking fear in Moony's eyes, and knew that privately they shared the same fears.  _So long alone.__  Too long.  He's been here for weeks…_

"I need him," Sirius stated, unable to express properly the growing hole in his heart that was threatening to consume him completely if he couldn't save Harry.  He could no longer imagine a world without Harry in it.  He shook his head and sighed.  He doubted he'd make it without him.  It was that simple.

"I do, too," Moony replied, his eyes shadowed as he looked at Sirius, perhaps implying something more, then jumped at the scratching sound of wood on rocks as he ran the skiff aground.   Remus shook his head and smiled grimly, darkly amused at his own nerves.

"Right then," Sirius said and whipped out the wand Remus had given him.  "I told you I knew how to get here," Sirius joked softly and forced his muscles not to quiver at the memory of cold sweeping over him.  He had to pause a moment to collect himself as a whole range of emotions ran from his heart to his throat, nearly overwhelming him, until he squashed them away, a Pandora's box of memories that refused to remain faded much longer.  _Later._

"Sirius…" Remus whispered.  Sirius frowned.  

"What is it?" 

"If…  if we get overwhelmed, and the Dementors swarm us…" he said hesitantly.  

"Moony…" Sirius started to say.  Remus raised a hand to forestall Sirius' sentence.

 "I just…  Don't do anything stupid.  Once you get him safe, don't you dare come back for me.  I mean for him to have you in his life," Moony stated with absolute certainty.  _Moony, if it comes to that, once he's safe, there's no way I'm leaving you behind.  You're *both* family.  But I'll let your delusions linger for now.  Sirius didn't say anything, instead letting his scowl be his response.  It was lost on Remus though, as he stepped out of the boat._

The island was deathly quiet, the gentle lapping of waves onto the rocky shore muffled by fog.  Sirius cringed as Remus pulled the boat slightly higher onto the rocky beach, insuring the current wouldn't carry it away in case they needed it for escape, the scraping sound conspicuous in the overwhelming silence.  They stalked along the shoreline without speaking, Remus taking his cues from Sirius.

_Relax.  You know Dementors can't hear in the technical sense of the word.  The wards and barriers are in place, so I don't think Voldemort has arrived. _ Sirius' gait was steady and confident on the uneven rocks, despite the slippery moss.  Even if he wasn't in great shape, his coordination had greatly improved since he'd initially traveled this way.  

His muscles had atrophied horribly in Azkaban, to the point that Sirius had been concerned that he'd never be able to handle anything strenuous again.  The escape had nearly killed him.  By the time the current had carried his Animagus form out of range of the magical barriers, Sirius was already starting to flounder.  Only a nearby piece of driftwood had saved his life.  

_I'd given up, you see_, Sirius knew now as he moved easily in the gray twilight of dawn.  It was something Remus had never asked about, but lately Sirius had seen the question in his eyes.  _I didn't bother to try to exercise.  I hardly ate.  That's why my body's in such a sorry state.  I sat in my cell and waited.  Waited to die, waited to watch my failures again, waited…  _

When Sirius first arrived to Azkaban he was in such a bad way he didn't even remember he *was* an Animagus.  Only many years into his stay, overwhelmed by chills from a fever, did he inadvertently change.  And it was such a relief…  The warm fur helped body and soul somewhat, and the canine form buffered what the Dementors were able to absorb…  _But I didn't want to do it.  I felt *better*.  How could I feel better when James and Lily were dead?  _

_I could have escaped at any time after that.  That's your unspoken question, isn't it, Moony?  Thank you for not asking.  But it *was* my fault, and I deserved what I'd got.  _The night terrors he had were getting worse.  The Dementors had only brought forward the most emotionally painful moments…  His life in Azkaban had nearly been as foggy and muted as his time at Hogwarts.  Until now.  

Memories were coming back.  Cold, dark days when the screams had nearly become too much.  When pounding his head against the walls allowed a moment's peace as dizziness engulfed him, and changed the screams to distant buzzing.  _It wasn't exactly that I'd *retained* my sanity here.  I realize that now, although if you'd have asked me even a couple of weeks ago, I still thought I had.  I regained it, slowly.  _

Loss and loneliness had overwhelmed him from the time they'd first brought him to the island, and Sirius had descended into dark places within his mind, places that still made him wake up screaming.  _I wish I *didn't* remember.  _But some absurdly determined part of him had whispered words into his dreams every once in a while.  _You didn't do it, the voice would remind him.  _It wasn't your fault.  You thought you were clever.  That's not a crime, is it?_  Sirius would wake up confused and bewildered; sometimes even calling out his friends' names, as if he were still in Gryffindor Tower and Azkaban was just a horrific dream.  _

In retrospect, Sirius came to realize that *that* little voice was what guided him back to sanity.  And in trying to analyze just *what* that voice was, that kept him from sliding into irretrievable madness, he couldn't truthfully say.  What claim did innocence have on the right to struggle to live?  To try to think coherently?  What was the point?  _You never know, the voice whispered conspiratorially.  _Best to be ready now_, it told him.  _Ready for what?___  Sirius couldn't even fathom *what* he was waiting for, but the fact that he should be ready for something helped to clear his mind and kept him from taking that last, irrevocable step towards giving up completely.  _

There he had hovered for years, wavering weekly between sanity and madness, waiting for *it*.  And *it* arrived.  A reason to escape.  The photo of a pathetic, contented, mangy rat minus one digit, on vacation in Egypt with a family that was also known to have a son who was best friends with The Boy Who Lived.  

The memories of Peter's last words before he disappeared; the look on his face of grim desperation and nauseous horror; was so clearly burnt into Sirius' mind that the moment the opportunity presented itself, the choice was clear.  He would leave Azkaban and hunt Peter down or die trying.  No more doubts or regrets.  If it was the *last* thing he ever did, he'd watch the life fade from his former best friend's eyes as he throttled his neck.  _Although a broken neck would have sufficed, too_.  

Sirius had been so far gone, consumed by his own burning hatred that it hadn't even *occurred* to him to try to prove his innocence.  If he'd caught Peter in those first few days, he'd likely have killed him instantly and left his remains for the worms.  _Heh_.  

But the moment never presented itself.  After a while, discouraged by his lack of success, he'd decided he wanted to take a peek at the boy Harry had grown into.  He'd stayed outside the wards Dumbledore undoubtedly had placed around the house he remembered the Dursleys had moved to last, hoping to catch a glimpse of Harry in the front yard.   

Instead, he'd seen a lost, frantic, upset thirteen year old boy dragging all his worldly possessions, obviously clear in where he *didn't* want to be, but clueless about where to go from there.  Sirius had almost approached him, right then and there.  He certainly wasn't about to let Harry wander around town by himself, unprotected.  Instead, Harry had accidentally summoned the Knight Bus, and the opportunity slipped past. 

But another chance came about to set the records straight with Harry.  As much as he wanted Pettigrew dead, he also realized that Harry deserved to know the truth.  He'd watched Harry long enough to know he'd chase after Ron rather than going for help.  _Gryffindors__, the lot of us.__  Is there something wrong with that?  Huh.  Ask a Ravenclaw._

Ironically enough, it was Harry's own bitter pain, etched in his face as he tried to screw up the courage to kill Sirius, back when he'd thought Sirius had betrayed his parents, that brought Sirius snapping back full force into reality.  It was one of the few times he'd ever seen Harry completely unguarded, and the range of emotions that had swept across his face connected him to Sirius in ways he'd never dreamt.  He'd realized it would be just his luck to get killed right on the *verge* of revealing Peter.

Since that night, the very same night he'd asked Harry to live with him, something in him was silenced.  Instead of the ever present whisper in the back of his mind to: _Kill Peter, avenge James and Lily, cease the echoes of Harry's cries for a mother that will never come for him again, it had changed.  _That's my godson.  Look at him, trying so hard, so lost.   Help him_.  The need was almost primal now.  _Help him.  Please let me not be too late.__

As Sirius approached the bedrock base upon which the prison itself rested, he could feel his teeth chatter.  His fingers clutching the wand Remus had given him felt disturbingly numb.  A hand rested briefly on his shoulder telling him Remus had noticed.  Sirius tensed at the touch, then nodded once, acknowledging it.  He turned to his left and began to scramble down a decline of larger boulders at the foot of the cliffs that held Azkaban.  

A brief tap on his shoulder expressed Remus' confusion.  _Why are we going this way? Remus was asking._  Azkaban's *that* way.  _Sirius raised one finger in the air.  _Wait.  You'll see_.  _

The faintest echo announced the tiny cavern, a small shadow barely visible to the naked eye a few meters below them.  Sirius dropped down into it with a faint splash.  Remus agilely followed.  It was a rusted drainage pipe, corroded by salt and time.  The latticework of metal bars at the entrance was still in place, but pulled easily in Sirius' hands; the metal corroded and covered with sharp barnacles.  The expression on Remus' face told Sirius he'd realized that this was how he had escaped before.  

"No one can hear us down here," Sirius stated in a normal voice, startling Moony.

"This is it, isn't it?" Remus asked, his voice awed.  Sirius nodded.  

Sirius was profoundly grateful he'd thought to put the grate back when he'd originally fled the island.  He hadn't been concerned at the time that the whole place would be scrutinized, trying to determine how he'd slipped away at mealtime.  _I wonder what they got from the Dementors?  _If he'd left the circular grate off to the side, the Ministry might have found it and resealed the entrance.  As it was, the forgotten drainpipe was simple and easy egress into the prison.  _Again.  _

"It's low tide," Moony observed as Sirius took the lead.  

"Good thing.  It's an unpleasant swim," Sirius observed.  He didn't look back at his friend's expression, although he suspected he knew what it was.  

"Was this the only way?" Remus asked, his voice oddly hesitant.

"I couldn't walk through the front door, now, could I?" Sirius tried to joke, although he nearly had…  _Slipping between the bars as an emaciated Animagus was a rather handy trick_… as he lit up his wand and headed deeper into to pipes.  His tone didn't match his words.  

"I've never been here before," Moony said softly.  _I know_.  "I was almost afraid to imagine what it would be like," he said, startling Sirius.  _We really don't want to talk about this now, do we?  _

"Home sweet home," Sirius said to drive the point home.  He *really* didn't want to talk about it.  Remus flinched.  

"Is it far?" he asked, changing topics.  Sirius shook his head.  

"It's not too bad.  It's a bit of a climb, though, to get to the upper sewer pipes.  And it's not going to smell pretty," he promised.  Remus didn't say anything in reply.  

They traveled through multiple levels of sewer pipes, eventually squeezing through a narrow floor drain and into a musty storage closet.  Sirius muttered a cleaning spell for the both of them.  

"Won't they detect magic?" Remus whispered in alarm, although he sighed in relief as the stench of raw sewage was removed from his robes and shoes.  

"No.  We're down where the House Elf quarters are," Sirius whispered in reply.  They needn't have worried about scrutiny.  It was getting towards breakfast time, which he briefly explained to Moony once he realized what time it was.  

Azkaban hadn't changed at all.  The rock walls still glistened with moisture and algae.  They stepped through the occasional mossy rivulet where rainwater had been draining for decades, its path etched into the stone.  The cobblestone floors were uneven and loudly echoed their footsteps until Remus placed Silencing Charms on their boots.  The dank, oppressive darkness, the distant whispers and sobs, and the prevalent smell of rotting flesh (_not fish) made it hard for Sirius to breath.    __Three cells down from your old home, Snape had said.  __Be alive, Harry.  We're almost there. _

Sirius was so chilled already he almost missed the first warning signs.  Only the faint echoes of his own screams in the Shrieking Shack, as he'd realized Harry wasn't coming, alerted him that a Dementor was nearby.  Moony's eyes widened as Sirius snuffed his wand light, pushing Remus roughly against the corridor wall.  He didn't have time to think or react, but he could sense that they'd almost been noticed.  _How many?  I can't tell.  Just one, I think.  They must sense Remus.  Okay.  Sirius placed his wand against Remus' temple._

"Stupify," he said softly, and shifted to Padfoot, trying his best to cushion Remus as he crumpled to the ground, the soft thud letting him know he'd only been partially successful in doing so.  _Ouch.  Sorry about that_.  He shivered, waiting for the faintest shift of fabric and a subtle return of warmth to the air to herald the Dementors' passing.  _Roll call.  He'd forgotten that roll call took longer than rounds.  Each morning the Dementors went from cell to cell, accounting for the inmates.  It was excuse to get close to each prisoner.  It happened right before breakfast gruel was served.  __They weren't gone, yet.  Careless.  I nearly got Moony caught.  _

Only when Sirius was certain that no more Dementors were coming did he dare to shift to human form.  "Ennervate," he said and jumped back as Remus had his wand out and ready instantly.  "Lumos," Sirius said, and tried to appear meek and harmless.  It was certainly easy to look timid in the face of Remus' wrath.  His face was tense and his eyes blazed with rage.  

"Tell me one good reason why you did that," Remus said in a calm, sinister voice.  

"Stupify is the only spell I know of that takes away anything for the Dementors to feed on.  Well, a Dreamless Sleep potion would have worked as well, but… never mind," Sirius said, catching himself before he launched into a lengthy explanation.  He was babbling a little.  "They'd sensed you, Moony.  I couldn't risk detection this early.  Padfoot's emotions are so vague and unspecific that the Dementors typically dismiss me.  Not so with you," he explained soothingly.  Remus wasn't impressed.

"You could have warned me!" he snarled, as Sirius once again headed towards the wing which held his old cell.  Sirius shrugged.  

"You've had a hard life, Remus.  There's no question of that.  But how important to you are your memories of Hogwarts, of your friends, of the pranks we used to pull as the Marauders?  I think you above us all cherished those moments, even at the time, because being a werewolf ***is* so rough on you.  What do you think friendship means to most of the prisoners here?  The most recent meal for the Dementors is Harry, and you know what his childhood was like.  I'm amazed he could make a Patronus, frankly.  He's had so little positive in his life, and…" Sirius had to stop, running a hand over his face to collect himself.  _So close.  Almost there, Harry_.  He was trying to make a point, not cry.  **

"What I'm trying to say is that if Harry's a meal, you're a smorgasbord.  I've never figured out how the Dementors communicate, but trust me when I tell you if one sensed you, many more would have followed," Sirius explained as he turned a corner, and began to stride quickly forward.  

He'd tried to time their prison break-in perfectly.  In the pre-dawn hours was the only time of day when the 'stars aligned', so to speak.  The House Elves were busy, the Dementors retreated to Merlin knows where, and the prisoners were too stunned to be aware of their surroundings.  

Sirius well remembered the last time he escaped.  Some of the inmates had noticed him as he weakly walked the corridors, taking more steps than he had in years.  Some shrieked after him, incorporating him into their nightmarish visions, while others begged him to take them with him, to save them…  He'd nearly stirred the prison into a frenzy, but the distraction had proven useful in the end.  All that emotion kept the Dementors distracted for hours, time Sirius had needed to figure out how to escape.  

But he'd forgotten that roll-call took longer than their normal rounds.  _How could I have forgotten a detail like that?  Each morning they used to enter his cell and kneel beside him, breathing in his joy, caressing his face tenderly, trying to coax him to madness…  Their faces…  Sirius shook himself, hard.  _Now's not the time for this.  So your timing was off a little.  We managed.  __

They were entering the mid-levels of the prison itself.  Thankfully, it was still early enough, and most of the prisoners were either unconscious or still trying to recover from roll call.  Scrawny, haggard bodies were either buried underneath the thin sheets, desperately trying to stave off the Dementors' chill, or huddled into corners, rocking, as whimpers punctuated the stillness of dawn.

Azkaban itself was built into the stone island, burrowing down so that only the top most cells were even visible to the naked eye from the shore.  Each cell had a small hole up near the ceiling that allowed for air circulation.  Rain frequently blew in with the harsher winter storms keeping the cells cold and dank.  

It was rare indeed for the sun to be out long enough to allow a tiny beam of light to stream through the hole in Sirius' old cell.  It only happened at sunset a few times a year, and only lasted for a few minutes before the sun would dip into the ocean.  Sirius had waited each day for that, wishing the clouds and fog away, wanting just a glimpse of warmth and light reflected on his hand as he desperately reached above his head to try to touch it.

He could hear Remus' sharp intake of breath as they passed men and women, eyes blind to everything but their own inner demons.  Ironically, the cries weren't nearly as bad in these exterior cells.  Azkaban's prisoners were held according to their sentence.  The top most (and brightest) cells contained those who only had a short term to serve.  Any time reporters came to the island, *these* were the prisoners they were allowed to visit.  

It was impossible to misbehave around Dementors.  The more you raged, the more they could tap into you.  If you were fighting, it meant you still had hopes for something better.  But that didn't mean there wasn't a punishment and rewards system in place.  There was.  But it wasn't enforced by the Dementors, at least not on purpose.  Punishment was doled out by the Ministry.  

Typically, this happened when inmates complained about inhumane conditions to the outside world, or when family members of a loved one who'd been imprisoned tried to fight for a better living environment or more privileges.  As a general rule, those who'd complained (_or who were listened to at any rate_) were only serving a few months or years.  In retaliation, the Ministry reassigned their cells to the 'Lifers' wing.  The deeper within the stone cliffs a man traveled to get to his cell, the longer his time.  The House Elves quarters, Sirius had discovered, was just higher than where the 'Lifers' resided.  Where Sirius' cell was.  

The acoustics of Azkaban seemed almost designed as one giant sound amplifier.  All the rock surfaces echoed voices with ease, collecting up the maelstrom of jarring and discordant sound and sweeping it downwards, through the corridors, to echo hollowly within the lowest chambers, where the 'Lifers' were held.  _The voices of the damned.  When it stormed, the wind and pounding surf added to the cacophony.  _Sometimes I'd almost thought it sounded beautiful, _Sirius remembered, and shivered.  __I could have done without that memory.  The greatest irony of Azkaban was that, if an inmates' own experiences didn't drive them mad, others would.  _

Most 'reassigned' inmates broke within several months.  Sirius had watched many such wizards and witches come and go.  He'd listened as one after another lost their grip with reality.   _This is where they'd assigned Harry. _

Remus remained thankfully silent as they traveled downward, and Sirius resisted the impulse to turn around and try to explain that it wasn't as bad as it looked.  It was, of course.  It was worse.  But for some unexplained reason, he felt embarrassed and ashamed that Remus would see this place and what his life had been for over a decade.  

For one desperate moment he even considered a Memory Charm, although of course he'd never use it on Moony.  His skin burned, as if the lesions and lice were still present under his robes.  His joints ached from the cold, and he found himself tucking his hands underneath his armpits for warmth, even though his clothing was charmed.  

"Breathe, Sirius," Remus whispered, barely audible, breaking up Sirius' thoughts and startling him.  He jumped.  _I'm fine.  I'm calm.  Why did he say that, anyway?  _Sometimes it seemed as if Moony could read his thoughts.  _Surely he can't though, right?  I wasn't serious about the Memory Charm, _he added, just in case_._

"What?" Sirius whispered aloud with difficulty.  He *was* finding it a bit hard to take deep breaths.  

"I can hear you hyperventilating," Moony replied, struggling to add lightness to his voice.  Sirius increased his pace, his blood pounding in his ears as he hurried forward, his concern for Harry keeping his own inner demons silent for the most part.  For now.  Each step seemed to press against his skin, the pressure building until it seemed almost unendurable.  

By the time they entered the lowest levels, Sirius was shaking in earnest.  His heart fluttered in his chest, and he felt oddly light-headed.  It was still relatively peaceful, considering the time.  Quiet enough, at least, to hear as water spilt into puddles on the floor.  The voices within the walls weren't quite calling out names and begging for forgiveness yet.  _Yet.__   _

Sirius paused at his old cell, looking right and left, giving just a cursory glance to note it remained exactly as it had when he'd escaped, save the cell door hung partially open.  Three cells from his… _Which way?  _

 "Harry?" he asked hesitantly.  _Right.__  Try right first, he thought and quickly counted three cells, using his wand to illuminate the corners and bed.  __Unoccupied.  Moony, froze in place for a moment as he'd stared into Sirius' old cell; at the lines scratched into stone that had counted the days for years, before he'd finally given up trying to guess how long it had been.   The sliver of mattress was stripped, leaving the cell as impersonal and desolate as when he'd lived there, with only the faintest of stains on the rocks where he'd banged his head on occasion.  Biting his lip, Remus tore his eyes away, studiously not looking Sirius' way, for which Sirius was grateful.  He felt raw.  _

"Can you see him?" Moony whispered, his voice quivering and thick with emotion.  

"No," Sirius replied.  

"Here, you morons," a whisper of a voice called from the darkness.  Three cells ***left* of Sirius', then.  Although the voice rattled hollowly and barely had tone at all, Sirius knew it was Harry's voice.  He tore inside the cell as Remus opened the door with his wand.  **

"Harry!  Snape, where's Harry?  How is he?  Is he okay?" Sirius asked as he kneeled beside the bed, pulling Harry's face toward him.  Unfocused, dull green eyes blinked back at him.  His skin was a grayish white and filthy.  His normally uncontrollable hair hung flat against his skull, greasy and matted.  Between the hair and the sneer, Sirius had to repress a shudder as Snape manifested himself all too physically within Harry's skin.  

"Do you mind?" Harry's voice scratched in annoyance, and immediately both Remus and Sirius dimmed their wands to a faint glow.  Harry coughed weakly, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth.  Sirius' eyes widened in horror while Moony dabbed the blood away tenderly with the hem of his robe.  

Harry's skin was pulled taut over bone, his cheekbones jutted, hollowing out into faint shadows above his jaw.  There appeared to be no meat left on him, anywhere.  His head appeared too large for his body, misproportioned.  Dark purplish bruises shadowed beneath each eye and his lips were tinged blue.  His teeth gleamed red with blood as he struggled to breathe.  

Remus jumped into action first, gathering up the thin blanket that Harry was underneath and wrapping it around him more securely.

"Good.  The blanket's charmed," Remus murmured in approval, then kneeled beside him.  "Severus, what is Harry's condition?" he asked.  Sirius could only stare as Harry remained slack within the blankets, his head lolling from side to side.  Only his eyes, squinting as Snape tried to track both Sirius and Moony's movements, gave any indication that Harry was even still alive.  

"Not good.  What took you so long?  Should I have drawn you a map?" Snape growled before coughing weakly again.  Remus propped him gently up a bit, which seemed to ease his breathing.  

"Will we hurt him by carrying him?" Sirius asked, horrified at the state Harry was in, although he'd tried to prepare himself for it.  As for Snape's sarcasm...  The man was insufferable, even half-dead.  _Don't think that!  _

Snape shook Harry's head faintly.  Remus nodded in satisfaction and gathered up Harry carefully in his arms.  

"Moony…" Sirius said, hesitating a moment.  Remus paused.  "Let me carry him."  Remus frowned.  

"No, you're already exhausted.  It makes sense that I hold him," Moony argued.  Sirius cleared his throat uncomfortably, ignoring the mortified look on Harry's face at what Sirius was suggesting.  

"Yes, but how's your Patronus these days?" Sirius inquired, and held out his arms, his haunted eyes saying what he'd left unspoken.  He doubted he'd be able to do one himself.  Remus' eyes widened, but he didn't hesitate as he stepped forward and placed Harry tenderly in Sirius' arms.  

"Lovely," Snape croaked hoarsely as they quickly retreated through the lower corridors the way they'd come.  

"Have you had contact with Harry?" Moony asked softly as he led the way, wand held at the ready.  Prisoners were beginning to take notice that something… living… was passing by their cells.  

"No," Harry's voice said weakly.  Snape cleared his throat and tried again.  "No.  Not for a few days now.  The only time he's conscious is when he's trapped in a vision, and unfortunately I haven't had the strength to maintain the link."  Sirius could hear Snape's own fears reflected in his clinical reply, and realized with a start that one way or another, Snape was the main reason Harry was still alive.

"Wait!  Don't leave me!  Please don't leave me here!" a voice wailed from the darkness.  Remus' grip on his wand tightened and he glanced around in alarm.  

"I don't think Dementors hear like we do, Moony.  Besides, a little emotion will keep them distracted," Sirius said reassuringly.  

"Yes, but Death Eaters do," Snape rasped softly.  Sirius scowled.  _Don't jinx me.  _

"Cold…  It's so cold.  Please come back," another voice cried mournfully.

"Is he…" Sirius started to ask Snape quietly after a moment's silence, then couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence.  "Is Harry…?" he tried again.  

"Nutters?  Mental?  I don't think so.  He's just… got nothing left," Snape replied thoughtfully, the sarcasm missing from his voice, making him sound more like Harry normally did.  It hurt.  Sirius had wanted so badly to make sure Harry was all right, but couldn't.  The same fears remained.  Seeing Harry had done nothing to reassure him.  

That it had to be *Snape* who helped Harry, who Sirius had to interact with, made it that much harder.  Harry's face wasn't meant to contain such bitterness…  _Isn't it?  A voice in the back of Sirius' head asked.  __Doesn't he have a right to be bitter?  Angry?  Unjustly imprisoned, falsely accused…  _

Sirius nearly dropped him in surprise when Snape gasped in pain, his hand abruptly pressing against his forehead (_Harry's forehead_).  Snape shuddered, his breath coming in short pants as his eyes rolled up in his head.

"*That* is not good," Moony said grimly, his eyes wide, and Sirius nodded as in unspoken agreement they began to run.  _Thank Merlin Snape's unconscious_, Sirius thought as he pulled Harry's body close and ran for all he was worth.

They were sprinting through slippery passageways with only the faintest wand light to go by.  It was clear by the pain of Harry's scar that Voldemort had arrived.  Remus led the way, his natural loping stride carrying him further and further ahead.  Sirius hated to lose sight of Moony, but even though Harry was remarkably light, *he* wasn't in the greatest shape.  _Besides, he tried to reassure himself, __trouble will either be in front or behind us.  There were no more interconnecting corridors until they were deep within the House Elf wing.  _

The overwhelming cold that started at the base of the back of his neck and abruptly swept through him was much stronger than it had been before.  _More than one…  Coming from behind…  _

"Go back, Sirius!  We're blocked!" Remus called from ahead, and suddenly Sirius could see that the darkness Moony's wand illuminated seemed to seethe and pulse with the shadows of Dementor's cloaks.  _They're right in front of him.  Remus' light faltered and the faintest glow of white indicated Remus was casting his Patronus.  _

"Don't get so close, Moony!" Sirius yelled as he tried to reassess their options.  _What options?!  We're trapped.  Ironically, no voices echoed in his head as he continued forward to join Remus, __better two than one, but his awareness of Harry's shuddering form increased as he approached the melee of shadow and light.  Remus was able to distract the Dementors, but his Patronus wasn't strong enough to banish so many.  _

Remus chanced a brief look at Sirius, then glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widening at the Dementors behind them.  

"Now's a good time to see if you can do a Patronus," Moony said even as he struggled to cast another one himself.  

_There are too many_, Sirius thought desperately, holding Harry close as he began to consider rushing them, forcing himself physically past them, but now the cumulative affects of Dementors both in front and behind were beginning to take their toll.  Harry's gasping breaths filled his ears, and rotting skeletal hands reached to grasp his robes.  _They know me, _he thought wildly.  They were trying to grab hold of both his arms and Harry's body.  _Think of Harry's smile.  Remember how he used to laugh?  I only heard it a couple of times, but…How about how you felt when he said 'yes' to living with you?_

"Expecto Patronum… Expecto Patronum…" Sirius said weakly, still holding Harry close as he saw Remus fall to his knees, his own Patronus' glow dimming with each passing moment.

"No!" Sirius screamed, desperate to keep sight of Moony as the teeming mass of Dementors began to surround him.  He surged forward, trying to physically force past them, to get to Moony, shoving them away…  But each push was weaker than the last, and soon his muttered, "expecto patronum," was little more than a whisper.  He too fell to his knees.  

As the last of Moony's Patronus flickered into darkness, and all that remained were decayed, rattling breaths and grasping dead hands, Sirius angled himself so he physically blocked Harry from view, trying to shield him with his body if nothing else.  

"No," he whimpered as he tried to cover Harry with his robes.  "Leave him alone.  Don't touch him…"  And then there was nothing.  

**TBC…**

**Author's Note**:  Okay, before you flame me, here's a few commitments:  Next chapter is Harry's POV.  I'm not going to leave you hanging.  Secondly, when writing this chapter, I actually intended another whole scene that went with it, but when I came to this point, it felt like a natural chapter break.  Each time I tried to continue, it felt forced and unnatural.  Sooooooo…  *ducks rotten fruit*.  _Even my beta warned me!_  8-)

For those of you who've wished me well, I truly appreciate both your kind sentiments *and* your patience!  My mom's fine, I'm moved, and I'm blissfully happy with an office of my own to write in.  This means more time to be able to devote to writing, so hopefully *much* faster chapters!  I still have the rather ambitious goal of trying to finish my story before Book 5.  Just so you have an idea of the timeline I'm working hard to try to follow.

**Responses to reviews:**

Shawny Wong (Thanks!), BenJonBroad, Beth Weasley, sara ane, sandtr(*lol*), TeeDee (Probably not…  I've got original stuff to work on.  I might revisit with little one-shots though if I really start to miss it), Lina (Next chapter is Harry!), rosie, NightSpear (See my response to TeeDee…  Thank you very much, though.  I'm glad you like it!), Professor Authordude, Lanfear, Ash Black (I know!  Yikes!  Talk about mixed emotions!  I'm dying for the real thing, but desperate to finish my own), Andrea13, Caroline (*G*), LyraAndCassiopia, Tadariada *g*, chrystieluv, animefan (breathe deeply before reviewing this chapter then…), Drunken Muse (Happy Birthday!), gao fei (I know, I know.  I reposted that.  My bad. g), sk8reagle, lisawescott, Heather, LC (It's only fitting, isn't it?  *G* Okay!), Annison Crane, Shades, leaf *heh*, lisa, Lucia Iris Legaia Tanaka (*backs away from the computer cautiously*.  Nope.), black panther, Lady Cinnibar (*G*  Thank you!), Amy Potter 13, Jordan, Aeryn Alexander (*blushes happily*), FleccaHPFan, Jarvey, Erika, Shitsumon *g*, CiA, sarah (Nope.  More Sirius), Green Eyed Knight (Dumbledore does play a role, but not there…), Lei Dumbledore 8-), Julie (I'm glad you do), mcnugget, Liedral, Anoni, Venus4280(G  True.  Hopefully I make up for that with *this* chapter?), Sakura Blossom, Lamina Court (Glad I've still got you guessing!), Fleur, Shellie (I feel the same way!), Summercloud (Yep.  That's what I'm saying), Bridgie (Cheers!), fairy cheese, t.a.g., Laterose, DarkIllusion, Thelvyn, Lady FoxFire, hp lovar (G…  Hermione said that to scare Rita, but you're dead on.  Hermione's too detail oriented to have let it slide.  I do!),  Ooshii Kurai, Robin *blushes*, ICE, momma-dar *kicks the floor happily at the kind sentiments*, SakuraPotter, Tempest In Blue, stayblue, Toffee (I'll try, but can't guarantee anything), Deerose91, Liara *g*, Perfection Unattainable *hehehehe*, Ali Kat Kelts, Ditto2001, AtheneLupin *g*, Elbereth94, luv-jinxy (Peter was grandfathered before the spell.  As for Snape…), sara*magic, Lilas (Not everyone agreed, though.  Thanks for seeing it my way, though! g), Rhiain (maybe 5), The Hanged Man (I'll try!), CinnamonGold, Miranda Wecker (Next chapter should be sooner, too), x-woman, Huushiita g, Pyro, Padfoot, Angel of Faith (Good luck!), Dark Disciple, Katani Petitedra, me of course, Mikee *g*, Blade McKay, TraLaLa *g*, Kyntor (yeah, yeah, yeah…  g  I'm just too lazy to repost until this story's done!), lylaruis, chrissyann, Insane Pineapple from Naboo *g*:  Thank you all for reviewing!  I know you're pining for Harry, so hopefully I've helped a bit with this chapter.  g

Suisan: Oh, excellent!  I know.  Ff.net spam is getting worse by the day.  It's not the easiest site to find gems simply due to sheer volume… Not that I don't try! g  Anyway, thank you very much for the kind review!

Lilahp:  Well, I *sort of* gave you Harry this chapter.  You get the real deal the next one!  Fair enough.  Obligatory plot stuff is done, now I'm going back to action.

Alias:  An independent variable…  I like that!  I see your point.  I appreciate that very much.  I've certainly learned a ton since first beginning this story.  Truthfully, I started it on a lark.  I had an idea, and decided it might be fun to get a stranger's input.  Who knew?  *heh*  Plotful.  Very true.  No, I didn't have *everything* plotted at all.  I had a point A and a point Q, and no idea how to get there in between.  8-)  I *definitely* try to make sure that I've given ample justification for each step I take now, as *that* is the one thing I absolutely *loathe* in any story I read.  What happens has to be believable and logical.  If I leave a story feeling like the writer *cheated* and didn't set the stage properly, *I* certainly won't read them again.  But I also *did* outline early on.  Once I realized this story was going to be more than 50 pages or so.  Hehehehe…  The power of one sentence…  8-)

Lia Santana: Wow.  No, you're expressing yourself perfectly.  As for the age thing, sorry if I threw you.  Truthfully, it threw *me* that anyone would see it differently.  So I can honestly say I know how you feel.  8-)  No, your reasoning is legitimate.  I just perceived it differently.  See Nicky's review for the timeline that *I* had in mind when writing this fic.  This is where writing from someone else's work is difficult, because the facts haven't been established and are left up to interpretation without the creator's input.  Anyway, I'm thrilled my story evoked the kinds of responses you described.  Thank you.  

Lothey:  Next chapter and the one afterwards I think you'll enjoy.  There is one image in particular *I* would love to see drawn, but I'm not there yet.  8-)  I'm touched you consider my story inspiration.  Thank you.  

Sherylyn:  Fudge turned into something of a pet project for me.  Everything seemed too… Death Eater/Non-Death Eater…  But the Harry Potterverse isn't like that.  It's got a ton of shades of grey.  Hagrid still hasn't gotten his wand back, Remus is an outcast among wizards, Harry is forced to live with emotionally and verbally abusive relatives…  Sirius was imprisoned *without* a trial…  Heck, *Hagrid* was sent to Azkaban for a little while!  The wizarding world is dark even *without* Voldemort.  Fudge was my way to emphasis that.  Anyway, glad you like it, and recommend away!  8-)

Nicky:  Thank you so much for coming to my defense on this one!  Believe it or not, I really did sit down and try to place the timeline correctly, but you articulated *why* perfectly.  While some *very* legitimate points were made…  I feel better that I wasn't so far off the mark myself.  

Psychochick:  Glad you liked the conspiracy.  I was quite nervous about actually, finally tying it all together.  Hehehe…  That last bit was just too much fun.  Karma.  _Heh__._

Bobbi: Glad you liked it.  I've hinted at so much for so long, I wanted to make sure it all made sense.  For the most part, the verdict appears to be that I succeeded. _Go me!_

Indigo Ziona: Thank you! I like your analysis of angst…  I'm not sure about your last question.  We'll see…

Zane Lupin:  *giggles* Now *that* is an interesting typo, isn't it?  Ah well…  I have Harry Potter *way* too much on the brain. 

Kat:  Legitimate point about adding one sentence.  Sorry for the confusion.  Glad you like it otherwise.  

Koanju:  As far as timeline itself goes, please see Nicky's response in the reviews to substantiate my own claim.  While not set in stone, it *could* be.  Also, in the Author's Note above, I stated that, as Arthur already knew what Lucius was capable of, and knew he had escaped justice, they are naturally opponents.  Especially when you consider that as they travel within the same political circles, they've undoubtedly already butted heads on countless occasions.  But you were dead on about the Voldemort reference, and I even reposted without the sentence.  Thanks for catching that so early (yours was the first review for the chapter), or I would have had a whole bunch of reviews telling me the same thing!  I'm sorry if I threw you, and ask that it be okay to agree to disagree on this point.


	36. It's Magic

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter isn't mine.  I can only hope one day to successfully create half as brilliant and inspired a universe of my own as JK Rowling has done.

**Author's Note**:  For the sake of expediency in posting, I'm bypassing my normal responses to reviews (which, after the cliffhanger last time, I thought you might appreciate g).  Suffice to say, you know who you are, and I think by now you know how much said reviews mean to me (*a lot!*).  Thank you so much, as always, and I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 36**

Aunt Petunia was bathing him.  He had to be very little, because the bathtub at Privet Drive seemed huge to him.  His head was barely above the ledge, the water almost to his shoulders.  His lack of coordination frustrated him as he tried to wash his own hair, the soap slipping again and again out of his small hands.  He scrubbed and scrubbed at his scalp, anxious to try to keep his aunt from becoming angry.  It had been a bad day.  He'd accidentally dropped a plate in the sink.  The tiny cuts from the shards she'd made him pick up now stung as the soap got into them, but he bit his lip to keep quiet.  

"Rinse, boy," she said, and pressed the flat of her hand against his chest, pushing him under the water.  He gasped a deep breath and plugged his nose as he submerged.  He shook his head vigorously and used his other hand to run through his hair, insuring all the shampoo was gone.  

When he was certain he was completely rinsed, he stilled, waiting for her to remove her hand and let him up for air.  The seconds lengthened as she held him down at the bottom of the bathtub.  The peaceful stillness of being underwater began to be replaced by the beating of his heart in his ears.  It became louder and louder, and his lungs began to burn as he fought the desire to open his mouth and breathe.  

He opened his eyes underwater.  His vision hadn't been nearly as bad back then, and even through the soapy water he could see her face clearly.  She had the strangest look.  Instead of her normal scowl, her features were thoughtful and speculative...  Almost curious as she stared down at him.  

The moments dragged on, and just when red spots were beginning to burst within Harry's vision, she removed her hand.  He shot up for air, taking in deep gasps and choking a bit as drops were accidentally inhaled from the water that still coursed down his face.  

He glanced up again at his aunt.  The scowl was returning to replace the look of… disappointment?  He didn't understand the heaviness in his heart and ache in his chest that had nothing to do with holding his breathe for too long, but from then on he never opened his eyes underwater.  Each bath time he waited quietly in the darkness for her hand to lift off his chest and grant him one more day.  

**Merlin, I'm going to be sick.**  Snape's disgusted voice echoed in his mind.  

***********************************

His mouth was filled with bubbly saliva.  He gagged at the sensation of it and tried to move on his side, letting it spill.  He was too weak to spit it out.  His limbs trembled so violently that he couldn't gather the strength to move.  

This wasn't a memory.  It was Azkaban.  He must have had a seizure, then.  Harry was beginning to recognize the symptoms.  He never knew when it was happening, of course, but the fuzziness that surrounded him afterwards, the befuddlement as his senses couldn't seem to input properly was almost a relief.  

He'd seen an educational film on epilepsy once as a little boy.  They showed three types of seizures and explained what they were called.  He'd watched, horrified, as a little boy nearly his own age suffered a Grand Mal seizure and desperately wanted to look away.  It seemed like he was witnessing such a personal thing, something he had no business seeing.  Did the little boy even know they were filming it?  

Harry understood now how the little boy had felt afterwards.  He felt it himself.  The overwhelming fatigue, as if he'd run for miles.  The confusion as thoughts drifted through his mind unrecognized.  The raw fear as he remembered that during seizures, the brain didn't get air.  

_How long?  _

Harry tried to suppress the panic that made the effort to breathe that much more difficult.  Would he suffer brain damage?  Had he already suffered it?  Would he even know if he had?  The thought terrified him, and idly he hoped that if he did, he wouldn't notice.  

**How many fingers am I holding up?**  

Harry tried to concentrate, tried to regain some sort of equilibrium before his own fears consumed him.  

_I can't see any fingers, Professor._

**Then you're no more brain damaged than usual, Potter.  Now quit panicking and breathe.** 

Harry took another gasp of air, and felt Snape's energy filter through him, seeping into his chest and quivering limbs.  It was odd to feel his body move through no efforts of his own as Snape angled him more on his side and cleared his mouth.  Air filled his lungs, and even the cold dankness of it couldn't deter from the relief he felt as he slipped back down into the oblivion that he'd begun to crave.  

*************************************

Something was horribly wrong.  The Dark Magic that flowed through him was like nothing Harry had ever felt before.  It wasn't directed at a victim at all.  He didn't surface into a vision of Voldemort.  Instead the echo of promises exchanged reverberated through his skull, overwhelming his senses as something…  A pact…  An alliance… suffused his body.  

_We will kill for you.  We will feed for you.  We will do as you bid, Master_, the voices, dry as bone, promised.  Were they even speaking English?  Age and decay suffused their words and washed over him, leaving him frozen and brittle.  He knew whose voices he heard.  Dementors.  A freezing burn sizzled through his nerves and danced on his skin as they added their own Darkness to the magic already flowing through him.  Voldemort's magic.

_Oh no.  _

_I promise you food.  I promise you unending victims, ripe and tasty and fresh.  I promise you innocence_, Voldemort's voice spoke in Harry's mind, and he felt the vomit rise up of its own accord.  It was done, then.  The magic danced along the inside of his eyelids, sinister and leaden with oaths etched in blood.  

_Whose blood?_  Harry refused to speculate on that.

Of course, there was nothing but stomach acid to vomit, and Harry shuddered, relieved he'd managed to throw up over the edge of the bed.  He hadn't realized he'd moved.  Truthfully, he was surprised he still could.  

_Was that you, Professor?_ He wondered idly, too tired to care if the Potions Master answered.  

Harry fell back on the bed, quivering as the burning eventually began to ease.  Everything was such a struggle now.  Movement.  Thought.  Breathing.  It was so hard to do, and he felt so awful.  Each moment Harry thought he couldn't endure another second, but he did.  And it had been so long…  so many seconds.  He'd gone so far beyond his thresholds that they now seemed pathetic in retrospect. He was so very tired, and even not breathing was easier.  What was one more discomfort if it was one less thing to struggle with?  The blackness was closing in, smothering him, and Harry couldn't bring himself to care anymore.

Snape managed to weave his way into Harry's consciousness, manifesting in the nothingness that surrounded him.  Harry could see the professor, he realized in surprise.  Snape's robes billowed in a breeze Harry couldn't feel as his black eyes burned into Harry.  

_Let me go_.  Harry just wanted to sleep.  That wasn't so bad, was it?  The darkness was so peaceful.  He didn't hurt there.

**Black is coming for you, boy,** Snape reminded Harry intently, his own dream image flickering as if he couldn't quite solidify, like an old movie picture with the frames moving too slowly.  **Can you hear me?  Your godfather is coming, so there's no sense dying now, is there?** he'd asked, and oddly, Snape's reasoning made sense.  After all, Harry had made it this far, hadn't he?  He could go a little further.  

**************************************************

Harry felt the familiar pull, tugging his mind back to coherent thought.  

_Voldemort must be in Azkaban.  _

He was almost out of time.  And out of options.  He could barely hear Snape anymore.  Harry knew he was dying.  He'd been dying for a long time now.  He could feel the faint tendrils of energy the professor wove into him, keeping his heart beating and his lungs exchanging air.  It was odd to know that he *literally* was living on borrowed time.  

He was going to die in Azkaban.  Harry accepted that.  He'd known for a while now.  But the bond with Snape had forced him to continue to fight long after he'd lost his own will.  He couldn't let go.  Not if it took the professor with him.  But the stubborn man refused to sever the magical bond, and Harry refused to have any more innocent blood on his hands.  

_What's one more?  _his conscience whispered.  _Shut up._

Harry resolutely cut off those thoughts.  He'd been so adrift in other's pain that he'd grown hollowed by it…. as if it had cut through his marrow and stolen into his very soul.  It was his breath now, his very being.  

Hogwarts was so far away, so many lifetimes ago, so many *_lives* ago.  Snape had tried recently to tell him Ron and Hermione were waiting for him back at school… in his own sarcastic way, of course.  The effort left Harry oddly nostalgic, like an old man thinking back on his first true love.  _My best friends_.  The first good thing that was his and his alone.  He knew he was far gone when he realized he would have even welcomed a Potions class._

Sirius was coming, and as Harry drifted back to awareness, he knew his godfather didn't stand a chance.  Voldemort had turned the Dementors, and there was no way Sirius could face both the Dementors and Death Eaters alone.  

**Who said he's alone?** Snape's voice whispered in his mind.  

_Of course_.  Remus Lupin was with him.  _Great.  *Two* people to protect_. 

**And how do you propose to protect them, Potter?** Snape asked as Harry struggled towards the professor's voice.  He was lonely, he was dying, and Snape's ironic timing was perfect; the oddest relief Harry had ever known.  The Potion Master's voice sounded strained, and Harry realized with surprise that he could tell Snape was hiding something.  He let it be.

He only had a little strength left, but it was worth it to try to talk to the professor one last time, to try to talk some sense into him if nothing else.  _Sever us.  Harry idly appreciated his own attempt at humor.  The professor didn't seem amused.    _

**I asked you a question.  I expect an answer,** he scolded, ignoring Harry's plea completely.  Although Snape's voice held an edge, a touch of sympathy tinged the professor's tone as well.  

_I have to save Sirius.  And Remus_, Harry stated.  

**I'm curious how you intend to accomplish that,** Snape said dryly, his voice oddly expectant.  

A jolt ran through Harry that nearly threw him back into unconsciousness.  Or was it consciousness?

**What on Earth was that?** Snape asked, his voice tight.

Harry tried to collect himself as he felt a tingling run throughout his… _nerves?  _

_Am I waking up?  That can't be_.  

**What was that?** Snape asked again.

_Professor, you have to go.  He's here_, Harry thought desperately.  

That's what the tingling was.  Dark magic.  It pulsed through Harry, and even though he'd been so distanced and numb from his body, Harry could still feel the spell's power.  The stillness of oblivion was shifting to the grayness of a stone arched passageway with columns; obviously still within Azkaban but certainly no room Harry had ever seen before.  At the room's center stood Voldemort with someone lying at his feet.  

_Oh, _Harry breathed in shock.  _That's me.  *That* is me, he realized as the still form lying face down refused to move.   _Why aren't I dead?  Merlin, I look…  Don't think about it._  _

Harry forced his eyes away from the body that didn't even *look* like him anymore, and desperately examined the room around him.  He was looking for Remus and Sirius, but prayed he wouldn't find them.  

_That's what Snape was hiding.  They're already here, too, _Harry realized in horror_._

Thankfully, there weren't any Dementors present.  Probably the other Death Eaters couldn't stomach having them around.  But there were plenty of Voldemort's followers, and they weren't even wearing masks.  

_Definitely not a good sign if they don't care if they're recognized_.  

How many were there?  _Twenty?  Thirty?  A cluster of them stood to the side, and Harry felt his heart plummet as his eyes took in the sight of two prone cloaked figures lying in a corner.  It was his worst fears realized.  Remus and Sirius, unconscious in a heap beside each other, pale and still as death.  _

_Oh no_.  The ache in his chest threatened to overwhelm him as he took form within the room, a 'ghost' once more, and tried to walk towards Sirius and Remus.

"Ennervate," Voldemort said, his voice echoing within the chamber walls and startling Harry.   _That's what I felt.  He's trying to wake me up.  Harry felt the surge of magic in him once again, and his vision wavered for a moment.  He froze and stared at his physical body, still motionless at Voldemort's feet, and wondered what would happen next.  _

_Please don't wake me up.  I can't do it then if you do.  I'm strongest here.  Where you've forced me to be.  _The vaguest plan had begun to form, echoes of everything he'd learned at Hogwarts floating on the edge of his conscious mind.  

"He looks dead," Lucius' voice observed from the half-circle of Death Eaters that stood beside Voldemort, surrounding Harry's limp body.  

"He breathes yet," Wormtail's quivering voice observed.  

"I can see he's breathing, Wormtail.  But where is the satisfaction in *this*?" Voldemort asked, annoyance and disappointment evident in his voice as he kicked Harry's body in frustration.  "I've waited fourteen years for vengeance, and *this* is it?  How completely unsatisfying," Voldemort said and kneeled down so his face was just inches from Harry's own.  

"I could cut your throat, Harry Potter, and that would be it.  But that's so *mundane*, don't you think?  Can you hear me Potter?" he said, his voice sinister and sibilant, obviously amused at his own humor.  

_Professor Snape, you've got to leave.  Cut the bond.  NOW_, Harry thought desperately as he watched Sirius begin to stir, groaning softly, in the corner.  

Voldemort must have heard Sirius as well, for his head snapped up and he smiled.  His teeth were gray and rotten, and even though he wasn't *in* his body, Harry felt like he could smell the death and decay on his breath.  He suppressed the urge to gag.  

Voldemort's smile was one Harry had seen many times before.  It was the smile of someone before they lit an innocent animal on fire and waited to see how long it took before the poor creature started tearing itself apart to get away from the flames.  The smile of someone who fed on other's pain.

"Sleeping beauty!" Voldemort exclaimed cheerfully as he watched Sirius stir, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.  Abruptly, he turned his face back to Harry's and whispered in his ear, ruffling Harry's hair with his breath, "Wormtail told me of your visions, Harry Potter.  I see how even as far gone as you are, you quiver and wince at my touch." 

Harry saw that it was true.  His scar was bright red where Voldemort had rested his bony hand against it.  

"Fascinating.  How this little scar," Voldemort said, and as he traced his fingernail over Harry's scar tiny blisters began to form, "could be the only mark I left on you.  At the very least you could have been crippled or maimed by my curse," Voldemort said almost petulantly.  

As Voldemort droned on, Harry struggled to focus on the monster's words and continue to walk towards Sirius, but the pain in his scar consumed him, driving him to his knees.  He continued to try to crawl, but was only partially successful.

"I must admit I've found it quite enjoyable to know I've had an audience lately.  It's a bit… titillating to know your judging eyes are upon me, probably even at this very moment.  Righteous Harry Potter, who's your savior now?  Mummy won't protect you anymore, boy," Voldemort's nearly singsong voice said, his sick words burning into Harry's mind before he stood up.  "Bring them to me," Voldemort commanded to the Death Eaters surrounding Remus and Sirius, his voice once again in-command.  Evidently their chat was over.

_Professor, you have to leave now_, Harry begged, wishing for the thousandth time that Hermione and her books could have helped him, or Dumbledore's obscure spells, or even Remus Lupin's extensive knowledge of the Dark Arts.  Anything to reassure him that the course of action he'd just dreamed up would really truly work.  

**You have a plan, don't you?  You think you can do this?  Take Voldemort on?** Snape asked, his voice oddly stronger than it had been in a long time within Harry's mind.  

_Yes.  I have to try it.  It's the only thing I can think of to do, and I have to protect them._

Harry's panic increased  as Voldemort left Harry's side to approach Sirius.  The Death Eaters were lifting the haggard escaped convict to his feet.  

_He looks awful.  _

Sirius blinked in confusion, struggling to focus and orient himself.  His eyes widened as they landed on the man (_No, not a man_) formerly known as Tom Riddle who approached him.  

_Would you *leave*?!_ Harry begged in frustration of the Professor even as he began to gather all his energy consciously to him.  _No time.  _

**Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter, so-called Boy Who Lived and future martyr to the Wizarding World,** Snape said in utter seriousness, yet still maintaining the faintest hint of mockery.  **My bond to you is of my own choosing.  **_My_**_ burden is to rid the world of that __menace,** he snarled, and suddenly Snape was standing beside Harry's kneeling 'ghost' form, nodding his head towards Voldemort, nearly corporeal now.  Snape's hand reached out for a moment as if to touch Harry's shoulder before he pulled it back.  _

**You have so little life force left.  If you truly think you have a shot at taking him out, you'll need my help.  And if my opportunity to destroy Voldemort once and for all is through you, I take it with open arms.  Don't you get it, Potter?  This isn't *about* you.  This is about him,** Snape said and kneeled beside Harry.  Energy coursed through Harry, energy freely given and received as barriers he hadn't even known he'd erected against Snape fell as at last he accepted the magical bond between them completely.  Snape nodded in satisfaction.  He'd felt it, too.

_You don't suppose they'll throw me in Azkaban for using an Unforgivable, do you? _Harry asked with the faintest sick smile, and Snape stared at Harry, his face inscrutable.  Harry didn't know what his own face showed, but Snape's eyes watched him closely for a moment before nodding.  

**If anyone's entitled to cast Dark Magic, oddly enough, I think it's you,** Snape announced.  

"Harry Potter!  I know you can hear me, Harry!" Voldemort called out, distracting Harry for a moment.  Abruptly Voldemort cast the Cruciatus Curse on Sirius.  

Sirius struggled to remain silent, whimpering and gurgling in pain as Voldemort held him down, his red eyes flitting from Sirius' spasming body to Harry's own.  Harry felt the spell engulf him and watched with an almost distracted air as his own physical body arched and convulsed.  He struggled to contain the agony while his intangible body continued to try to crawl to Sirius.  Snape's form disappeared, but Harry knew the bond was still alive and well.  

Sirius stopped thrashing as Voldemort lifted the curse.  He gestured for the two Death Eaters to lift him back up from where they'd let him fall.  Wormtail stood beside and slightly behind Voldemort in an unconscious effort to shelter himself from Sirius with Voldemort's body.  

"Pathetic.  What can he do to you now?" Voldemort snarled, noticing what Wormtail had done, and grabbed his silver hand, thrusting Pettigrew reluctantly forward until he was face to face with Sirius.  Even as dazed as Sirius was, the moment his eyes landed on Wormtail his hands reached out and grasped his throat with surprising strength.  

"Hello, Peter.  Missed me?" Sirius snarled, his eyes nearly mad with fury and his lip curled up in a silent snarl and he closed his hands mercilessly around Pettigrew's throat.  Wormtail's eyes bulged as he futilely clawed at Sirius, weakly trying to break his grip, his mouth opening and closing, making him look like a fish out of water as he desperately gasped for air.

The Death Eaters looked like they were about to pull Sirius away from Wormtail, but Voldemort signaled for them to stop.  He watched on in amusement.

"Sirius, stop it!" Harry begged, and was shocked when Sirius jumped, thrusting Pettigrew away from him and looking around him wildly.  

"Harry?" Sirius asked.  Pettigrew looked around frantically too, his eyes landing on Harry's prone form.  Sirius, on the other hand, was looking right at Harry's intangible one. 

"Sirius!  You can hear me!" Harry said in relief.  Remus stirred behind Sirius, distracting them both for a moment.  

"Excellent!  I'm so pleased you can see him!  I'd heard about this.  How fascinating," Voldemort exclaimed, and his eyes did seem to glow redder with interest.  "He's precious to you, isn't he Harry?" Voldemort asked, speaking to the room in general since he himself couldn't see where Harry's ghost form was.  Sirius looked from Harry's intangible self to the prone form that lay a short distance away.  His eyes darkened with pain.  Harry noticed Voldemort motion for the Death Eaters behind Sirius to lift Remus up as he too began to regain consciousness.  

"You aren't dead, are you?  I mean…  This is what you were talking about, right?  Your dream self?" Sirius asked, his own face lit with hope, concern and exhaustion all at once.  

"I'm not dead yet, but you soon will be.  What were you thinking, coming after me?" Harry asked indignantly.  

"Your godfather and a werewolf.  Is this the best Dumbledore could do?  Pathetic, really.  The last of the so-called Marauders.  Who knew such a group of friends would have such bad luck?" Voldemort mocked, again playing as much to Harry as he was to Sirius.  Sirius reluctantly focused away from Harry as Voldemort stepped forward and placed his hand under Remus' chin, tilting the former Professor's head from side to side as he struggled to wake up.  

"Leave him alone," Sirius growled, fear evident in his voice.  

"What?  Would you rather I turn my tender mercies upon your Godson?  Or yourself?  Is that it?  Do you think you can withstand me for long?" Voldemort hissed in annoyance.  Sirius flinched but didn't shift his eyes away.  Harry could see him desperately trying to figure out a way to draw his attention away from Remus.  

"Your quarrel isn't with him," Sirius stated flatly.  Voldemort laughed, the sound chilling.  It was high pitched and airy, filled with hidden words that Harry realized almost sounded like Parseltongue.  It was as if he were speaking simultaneously in both languages.  

"Perhaps it is, Black.  What tangled webs of guilt and deception you've woven between you.  You didn't trust Remus Lupin because he was a Dark Creature.   You thought I could corrupt him…  Did you know I tried?" Voldemort said, his face suddenly inches from Sirius' own.  "I called to him, and even at his most ravenous, trapped within a rage so fierce that it nearly engulfed me as well, he rejected me," Voldemort turned to look directly at Remus, who was now awake, his eyes wide with horror.  Voldemort looked… miffed.  "You withstood me, Remus Lupin, even at your most primal.  It was quite a victory, I imagine.  A vindication, if you like.  It's a shame you can't remember what happens when you are the wolf, isn't it?" he taunted, and Harry flinched as Remus let out a choking sound.  

"And you, Sirius…  Do you know that Peter begged for death many times before I broke him?  He called for you, you know.  He called your name a thousand times…  I think he quite looked up to you.  Did you know that?  He thought you'd always be there for him, too, not just for James Potter.  That's what you promised him, wasn't it?" Voldemort asked.  Sirius' eyes shifted to stare at Peter, who had backed away from Voldemort, his hand still at his throat massaging it tenderly.  His face was contorted in a fury that appeared to be directed at Voldemort, Harry realized in surprise.  

"Harry Potter, I know you can hear me.  I've decided to spare your Godfather's life…  And your former professor's," he said, and Harry suddenly knew that whatever Voldemort planned to do would be much worse.  

"Summon a Dementor.  I think they'll appreciate the professor.  A down payment, if you like.  As for you, Black," Voldemort said casually before raising his wand and pointing it at Sirius again.  "Crucio," he said.  

There was no pause or hesitation, no chance for Harry to try to gather himself and prepare for the spell.  Instantly both Sirius and Harry fell to their knees, uselessly clawing at the ground, writhing in pain.  Voldemort appeared content with watching them both suffer.  The spell went on and on, and Harry desperately tried to focus his shattered concentration anywhere but the pain.  Just long enough to do what he'd intended.

_No!  Not like this!  I have to do this!  Sirius!  Someone!  Stop the spell!  I can do this!  Don't take this chance away! _Harry cried, whether aloud or not he couldn't be sure.  

He could feel the fire of the curse start to worm its way into Sirius' unconscious and knew Voldemort meant to hold him under until he snapped.   Harry desperately tried to stand, to approach Voldemort, to *move*.  But he couldn't.  Time seemed to freeze as he felt himself begin to fall, the light dimming…

The explosion that rocked the room was so loud that for a moment Harry thought a bomb had gone off.  Death Eaters were scattered everywhere, and Voldemort had been thrown across the room.  Harry tried to gather his wits as Aurors stormed the chamber, shooting curses at anything that moved.  Sirius was panting, covered in dust, just a few feet away.  Remus crawled towards him, gathering the ex-convict in his arms and pulling him to a pile of fallen stones to use as a shelter.  Harry crawled with them, trying to get his breath back.  

"Sirius?  Sirius?  Can you hear me?" Remus asked desperately.  Harry held his breath.

_Please be okay.  Please be sane.  Please be alright_, Harry desperately prayed.  

Sirius groaned and tried to open his eyes.  Blood ran out the corner of his mouth, and Harry could see he'd nearly severed his tongue in half.  Sirius' eyes opened and immediately focused on Harry.  

"Harry?" Sirius mumbled.  Remus looked around and blanched.  Harry glanced at what he was looking at.  _Oh_.  Harry's body was still in the middle of the room, covered with dust but otherwise undisturbed.  Remus nodded to Sirius, tenderly setting him down.  Harry watched as Remus ducked curses from both the Death Eaters and the Aurors alike, dashing across the room to get to Harry.  Harry turned to look at Sirius and smiled.  

"I'm here, Sirius.  Can you hear me?" Harry asked.  Sirius nodded weakly.  "How many fingers am I holding up?" Harry asked, holding up three.  

"Thwee," Sirius replied.  Harry was surprised to feel himself smile a little.  

"I want you to promise me something," Harry said solemnly.  Sirius scowled.  

"I can aweady tell I won't," Sirius said.  Harry frowned.  

"Fine.  Be like that," Harry scowled, then reached out as if he could actually touch Sirius.  Of course he couldn't.  "I love you, Sirius.  I would have loved to live with you.  Tell Remus I love him, too...  I'm going to miss you," Harry stated gently, his fingers almost but not quite brushing over Sirius' face.  He didn't cry.  He'd gone beyond that long ago, but the sadness he felt helped to strengthen his resolve.  This felt right.  This was what he was meant to do…  

"What are you tawking about?  You're not going anywhere," Sirius stated, trying to sound confident even as his voice trembled.  Harry shook his head.  

_No, Sirius.  I am._

Harry weakly stood and shot another glance towards Remus.  He was currently dragging Harry's body back to Sirius' shelter.  

"Harry?" Sirius called, his voice tinged with panic.  "Harry?  What are you doing?  Remus is coming.  We're going to get you out of here.  Harry!  Come back!" Sirius' voice began to increase in volume.    

Harry walked slowly towards Voldemort.  Now was the time to act.  He'd gotten all the distractions he was going to get.  The curses Voldemort shot at the Aurors were still Dark, but more general.  Designed for instant death rather than the long, drawn out affair Voldemort seemed so fond of.  It was easier for Harry to bear.  This pain he was used to.

"Tell Ron and Hermione I love them, Sirius.  Tell them I was thinking about them, won't you?" Harry called as he strode forward, feeling his own confidence begin to grow. _ I can do this.  I'm out of time, but I've got a chance to make it better for them.  For you, Sirius.  And everyone else.  Because *you* don't get to hurt anyone else ever again, _Harry vowed as he approached the monster before him.  Snape's energy sang through him, as if answering Harry's declaration with one of his own as well.  

"Harry, come back!  Whatever it is, don't!  Please, Harry!" Sirius cried, and suddenly most of the fighting in the room ceased except for a few random curses.  Death Eaters and Aurors alike stared at Sirius as he stumbled to his feet, oblivious of everything around him, arms reaching out as if to try to stop Harry.  Remus stopped dragging Harry, instead scooping him up in his arms and taking advantage of the temporary cease fire to rapidly carry him to Sirius.  

"Sirius, I've got him!  Let's go!" Remus called, still thinking his friend was confused from the effects of the Cruciatus.  Oddly enough, Peter Pettigrew sidled up behind Voldemort with the faintest of smiles.  Harry frowned.  

_What are you up to?  _

"Don't do it, Harry!  I can't do this without you!" Sirius begged and began to sob.  Harry closed his eyes for a moment, suppressing the overwhelming urge he had to do just that… Go back and try something different.  Then he looked once more at his body hanging limply in Remus' arms and knew there was no going back.  He shouldn't even be alive.

"You're going to have to.  Always remember I love you, and that all I've ever wanted for you is a life of your own.  To be free.  Okay?" Harry asked, and stood directly in front of Voldemort.  

Voldemort's eyes were narrowed as he watched Sirius, then shifted to look around him.  He seemed to glean the gist of what Sirius was saying and tried to step back, the faintest flicker of insecurity flashing over his face before it was gone to be replaced by grim determination.  As if summoned, (which he'd probably done) the Dementors began to flood the passageway, grabbing friend and foe alike.  Their sinister hiss and the sounds of garbled screams filled the air.  

Voldemort tried to turn, most likely to flee into the connecting corridors, but two hands appeared and wrapped themselves around Voldemort's chest, clasping in front of him, one silver and one human.  

"Now, Harry!" Pettigrew yelled, and Harry thrust his hands within Voldemort's body, placing them where he imagined his heart to be.  Voldemort's red eyes widened, as if he felt the chill of Harry's presence.  

"Avada Kedavra," Harry said, grateful he'd already done Wandless Magic before, and focused all of his will, his magic, his intent, *not* on the monster before him, but on the Dark Magic that kept him alive.  Harry knew that in his current state Voldemort *couldn't* be killed… but, Harry reasoned, if the Dark Magic that kept him alive were destroyed, he'd be just as mortal as anyone else.  Mortal enough for any one of those Aurors to finish him off.

Time seemed to freeze, and everything else with it, as Harry felt the power of the spell surge through up through his heels and out his fingertips, zipping through Voldemort's body like tiny bits of green lightning.

**_Dark?  Light? _**A voice, or multitude of voices with unimaginable power asked, confused.  

_What is that?  What's happening?  _

Harry felt himself caught up in within the Killing Curse, poised on the edge of a precipice.  Everything and everyone around him had frozen, and Harry couldn't be sure if it was the spell he'd cast, or something else.  

**_Good?  Evil?  What is that? _**The chorus of voices asked Harry, and he realized it was Magic itself, sluggishly being forced into sentience to try to better define Harry's intentions within the spell he'd cast.  If magic was innately neutral, as Snape had indicated, how would the spell play out?  That was Harry's gamble.  He'd hope that if *intent* could focus the spell, then intent could define the parameters of it as well.

_Dark Magic, _Harry thought, refocusing all his thoughts on Voldemort.  _I'll show you_.  The spell followed his thoughts, and the Magic sensed his concentration.  

**_Ah.  Define good and evil, _**the Magic stated, and seized the memories of Harry's life to examine them, each moment brought forward in stark detail.  Sanity and madness meant nothing in an instant as Harry became an integral *part* of the spell itself.  

Every memory, every slight, every cruel remark by the Dursleys…  Every shared joke with Ron and Hermione.  Every teacher or stranger who'd ever tried to care.  Everyone else who hadn't.  The happiness he'd felt at Hogwarts, the fear as he'd seen Voldemort feast upon a Unicorn.  The despair of seeing Ginny Weasley's body and fearing he'd already been too late.  The hatred he'd felt when he'd first learned who Sirius Black was, and the love as he later learned the truth.  His respect for Professor Lupin, and the bittersweet triumph of coming to his own rescue as his Patronus stag fought off the Dementors.  The guilt he'd felt for not being as good a friend to Hagrid as he could have, and the giddy moment of happiness as he and Cedric took the Cup together, a triumph for Hogwarts.  The aching despair as Cedric fell, and his own nauseated rage as he watched, helpless, as Pettigrew raised Voldemort with Harry's own blood.  The nearly unendurable sense of loss as he watched the echo of his parents protect him one last time.  The extent of his failure as he returned to Hogwarts, clutching Cedric's cooling body to him protectively.

The victims he'd seen since that night…  The parade of faces of those who Voldemort had tortured and killed.  Sweet little Anne and her trusting eyes.  Harry screamed as the memories of all his nightmares flooded through him, one after the other.  Some distant part of him realized the Magic was using Harry's own morals to determine what was considered Dark, but then that thought too was absorbed into spell.

**_Dark.  Light.  Good.  Evil.  *He* is evil.  Destroy him…  _**Magic passed judgement on Voldemort, the power swelling as inevitably as the tide out through Harry's body and into the Dark Lord.  

"NO!" Voldemort cried, twisting in Pettigrew's grasp.  Harry became engulfed in a vortex of energy that leapt from his hands and crackled over the surface of Voldemort's body, burrowing beneath his skin.  Voldemort's eyes widened in fear and he opened his mouth to scream, but instead of sound, a blinding green light shot out.  

**_Life.  Death.  Life_**, the Magic stated as it stripped Voldemort of his Dark Magic.  His skin seemed to deflate as it reverted back to what could only be described as a horribly deformed infant, as Harry had first seen him in the graveyard.  Voldemort's flesh seemed to lose all elasticity as it sunk onto his bones.  His red eyes dimmed, then burst forth with the same greenish glow that already came from his mouth.  The Killing Curse was consuming Voldemort from the inside out, as more and more streaks of a luminescent green began to show through cracks in his flesh, burning him up as the Dark Magic forced itself out of his body, leaving only a husk behind.  Everything Dark that had once been Lord Voldemort was sucked up into the spell.  

Harry felt the Darkness the Magic had stripped from Voldemort swirling around, its foulness contained within his own body.  The Dark Magic hadn't been destroyed.  

_So much power.  So much evil…_

**Most believe, including myself, that Magic has always been.  It's eternal, as old as creation.  It's infinite…**  Snape's lecture on the nature of magic floated idly through Harry's mind.  

_If it's eternal, how can it be killed?  _

Too late, Harry realized the paradox his own spell had created.  The Magic was trying to fulfill his curse, but couldn't because it couldn't destroy itself.  _You can't kill what can't die.  _The Magic was trying to figure out what to do with the Dark Magic Harry had taken from Voldemort.

**_Ah_**, the Magic announced as if it had come to a decision, and Harry screamed again, feeling his own thoughts scatter with the raw power that burned through him, filtering Darkness to Light, taking Voldemort's former magic and applying it to continue Harry's spell, in effect reinforcing it.  Green light exploded from his own body… 

_When did I get back in my own body?_…  

His thoughts drifted back to the present for a brief moment of self-awareness before once again being consumed.   Light so bright it was like an ill-colored sunrise exploding over a distant horizon flooded the room, temporarily blinding its occupants.

**_Destroy the Dark.  Save the Light.  _**The spell reached out, regenerating itself, and touched Pettigrew next, absorbing his essence into the vortex of light and wind as it effortlessly flitted through every thought and memory Peter Pettigrew ever had, passing judgement based upon Harry's own principles.  

Harry witnessed the love Peter had felt for his friends, the desperate wish that he could be like them, the fear, the insecurity, the failure, the torture Pettigrew had endured at Voldemort's hands.  Cedric's death had meant so little to him by then.  What was one more?

As Harry was overwhelmed by the magic that began to drain from Pettigrew, the former Marauder's silver hand began to disintegrate.  Still reeling from witnessing the brutal destruction Voldemort had wrought upon Pettigrew's will, Harry felt a moment of pity, before it too was absorbed.  Peter Pettigrew's hand dissolved like a sand castle obliterated by high tide.  The Dark Magic that had sustained Wormtail's life from the moment he'd sacrificed his own hand to resurrect Voldemort came flowing back through Harry, and out again to touch the next group of people closest to him.  

Death Eater and Auror alike were judged, their memories, their lives flashing before Harry's eyes as the Magic used his life experiences to weigh how much was Dark and how much was Light within each of them.  A few of the Death Eaters survived, most likely little more than squibs.  Many others died instantly.  With each surge of Dark Magic, the Killing Curse itself became stronger, reached out further, eventually touching the Dementors.  

Harry felt a polluted corruption of power nearly overpower his mind, a Magic so ancient and Dark it reached back in time to the days of the Founders of Hogwarts and beyond.  Where did they come from?  He knew in an instant, and the knowledge was just as quickly burned away as each person, each creature the Dementors had ever Kissed also became part of the spell.  **_Dark.  Light.  Life.  Death.  Good.  Evil_.  **

_Too much.  Too many.  Let me go.  _Harry's pleas became part of the spell.

The Killing Curse reached Sirius next and lifted him up, the swirling tendrils of energy coursing through him as it searched his mind.  Sirius closed his eyes in defeat, obviously expecting to die, as tears of loss still streamed down his face.  Harry nearly laughed as the spell remained the same.  There was *no* Dark Magic within Sirius.  The spell easily understood what the Dementors had done, and did not judge him for it.  

Remus Lupin was next.  

_No!  He's not Dark!  You must understand!!!_  Harry tried to rip his mind from the heart of the spell, sensing what would happen next even as the Killing Curse seized Remus Lupin within its grip.  

Remus' body jolted as if he were being electrocuted as the Magic examined his memories, his suffering, and the Curse he'd endured for so many years.  Harry's struggling was futile as he felt himself slipping further away, his own powers blending with the Killing Curse, his own essence merging with the Magic that now controlled him.  He wasn't Harry Potter any longer.  He *was* the Magic, and as it passed judgement on Remus Lupin, he heard the former professor cry out in such pain and agony that Harry desperately tried to end the spell, to cast it back onto himself, to end it completely.  

_No!  Not this!  *He* isn't Dark! _Harry tried again, forcing every memory of kindness, concern, generosity, insight and wisdom the mild mannered professor had ever expressed to the forefront of his mind to be included within the parameters of the spell, but his voice was lost on the current of power that filled him as Remus' own Dark Magic was absorbed.  

On and on the spell continued, adding to its strength with each trace of Dark Magic it encountered until it had at last reached out and touched every living being on the island of Azkaban.  Still further it reached, searching…

Harry sobbed as he tried to manipulate the magical currents… to kill himself and somehow end the spell, terrified it would never stop at all.  He couldn't bear the thought of Remus being hurt, and hated himself for what he'd unleashed.  He knew if he died, the spell would have to end, and tried to throw himself completely into the Killing Curse until only his husk remained as well.  

_Let me die!  Let me end this!_

Harry could feel Snape desperately sending his own strength to Harry, trying to anchor him, and did everything he could to block it.  

_Don't touch me!  Let go!  It's beyond all of us now! _Harry frantically tried to warn.

Snape ignored him, trying to force his own energy into Harry.  At that moment the Magic sensed Snape's presence and traveled the length of their magical bond to touch him as well, _judging _him.

_Stop!  All I wanted was Voldemort!  The spell is done! Please! _

**_Light.  Dark.  Light for Dark?  Dark for Light?  _**Harry could feel Snape's agony as the spell fed back through their bond.  

_I'm so sorry, Professor.  I never meant for this to happen.  _

The Magic paused, confused as it tried to decide how much of Snape was Dark and how much was Light.  Harry felt the Dark Magic from Snape flow painfully back into him, and from a far distant place wondered if he'd killed Snape as well as Remus.  

_No.  Not like this.  I've succeeded.  I've failed_, Harry realized and as he finally lost all conscious thought, the magic continued to funnel through him, *becoming* him, as it searched for more Darkness to feed upon.  

Somewhere over the ocean, when there were no more wizards or witches or magical creatures of any sort to be found, the last vestiges of the Killing Curse Harry had unleashed snapped back into him, violently back lashing into his body as it had no further place to go.  

_Too much.  Too far_.  

Somehow during the spell, Harry's physical body had been lifted up within the currents of energy, floating a few feet above the ground.  The charred remains of Voldemort idly swirled in the breeze of power that still eddied around him.  As the spell finally ended, the green glow that had suffused the chamber snuffed out, leaving the room eerily black.  Harry fell the last of the Magic desert him.  There was nothing left to gather as Harry landed painfully on the stone floor, scattered within his own mind.  He'd gone beyond all human endurance.  The memories of thousands of voices drowned him, and the last of his energy ebbed away as effortlessly as a gentle rain.  

Harry's heartbeat skipped erratically, and everything magical around him faltered and ceased to work for a moment as Magic realigned itself.  Wards dropped, enchantments failed.  The Killing Curse was done.  Its work was complete.  The Magic let go of its hold on Harry, and Harry ceased to breathe.

Harry let go, and fell.

**TBC…**

**Additional Author's Note:** Just letting you know that I intend to try to post as fast as I can, so you shouldn't be left hanging for long.  As always, please read and review! 8-)  I can't begin to express how much enjoyment I get out of them! g


	37. Just the Three of Us

**Disclaimer:  **Wow.  If you haven't figured out that I don't own Harry Potter by now, there's no hope for you.  g

**Author's Note**:  I know I promised this chapter sooner, but unfortunately RL hit me…  literally…  A car accident pushed off this chapter by a few weeks.  I'm okay, just sore, but the next time someone wishes for you to live in interesting times…  Smack them.  For me, okay?  8-)  

For all those who reviewed to ask when I'm posting the next chapter…  I was trying!  For nearly six days.  *grrr*  It's uncanny how often I try to upload chapters when the site is down.  The odds shouldn't be quite this high, should they?  Never mind.  Better not to ponder such questions…  g

Well, if it's any consolation, I've already been working on the next chapter for a while.

My most grateful and profound thanks to all who reviewed.  Not only am I addicted to them (it's embarrassing how often I check my mail), but I intend to edit this story and polish it up a bit (my beta's marvelous suggestion g), then repost at FictionAlley.  Your input helps me do this (Can you say 'gillywater' instead of 'gillyweed'?) *blushes*  

Enjoy!

**Chapter 37**

Sirius stared around him in shock at the smoldering robes that had been Dementors only moments before, at the fallen Death Eaters and stunned Aurors, at Remus' shivering, unconscious body… at the limp boy in his arms.  Harry wasn't breathing.  He didn't have a pulse.  

The magic had surged back into Harry as suddenly as it exploded outward.  The silence following the roar of raw power that had engulfed the island was pregnant.  It was the silence after a clap of thunder exploding directly overhead.  Would another bolt strike?  Would it begin to rain?  Had the storm passed?  

Brief seconds of possibility, when the dice hadn't stopped rolling yet...  The numbers weren't up.  *Harry's* number wasn't up.  He wasn't breathing and he didn't have a pulse.  _But it's not too late.  Not yet.  The handkerchief has to be here.  It simply can't *not* be.  Sirius quickly patted down Harry's tattered robes and felt for it.  _

_They can't have detected it.  _The wards nullified Portkey magic anyway, so their detectors wouldn't have noticed anything odd.  It would have appeared perfectly harmless.  _Fudge would have left the handkerchief with Harry.  He would have thought it amusing, Sirius thought with burning hatred.  __Come on.  Where is it, Harry?  Where would you keep it?  He struggled to keep his hands from shaking as he ruffled through Harry's robe pockets.  The handkerchief had to be there.  Sirius couldn't wrap his mind around a world in which it wasn't._

After the raging torrent of energy had ravaged Sirius' memories and cast him aside untouched, he had remained hypersensitive to the swirling eddies of magic that still drifted around him.  As the last of Harry's spell had finished, Sirius felt the brush of magic against his skin, the subtle shift of power that heralded a change.  He'd almost missed it.  

He knew it for what it was, though.  The wards were down.  He could feel it, as if his magic was less… constricted.  A tiny window of opportunity had arisen.  A moment in time, a fork in the road, where things could go either way.  This was his moment, as it had been just a few years before, when the newspaper photo had shown him the path.  He had a chance, tiny and nearly infinitesimal.  He leapt for it.

Sirius slipped his hand inside Harry's robes and found the handkerchief tucked near his heart, folded into a seam of fabric.  _There you are.  Good boy, Harry.  Come on.  Here we go_, Sirius thought tenderly as he pulled out the cloth and reached out, placing Remus' quivering hand over his own and gathering Harry closer to him as he activated the Portkey.  

Sirius found it much harder to hold onto Remus and Harry than he'd anticipated as the familiar tug pulled them all forward.  The howl of wind and jumble of colors that shifted past his vision seemed oddly unimpressive after Harry's spell.  

For that brief moment, when Sirius felt like he was only partially in both places; still on the floor of Azkaban while also sitting in a lonely clearing in the woods near Hogwarts, Sirius pulled Harry closer, wishing it was within his power to freeze time entirely and preserve these precious moments, when it wasn't too late and Harry still had a chance.  

"Sirius!  Quickly, drape this across the lot of you," Professor Minerva McGonagall said as she threw something at Sirius that he caught out of reflex, cursing himself as he did so.  _Why do I keep doing that? _He berated silently.  His reflexes would be the death of him.

The Portkey had taken them just outside Hogwarts' wards, probably near the path that led to Hogsmeade.  It appeared as though McGonagall had been there for a while, alone, waiting for them.  _Where's Dumbledore?_

Sirius looked at the necktie with Gryffindor colors McGonagall had thrown that rested in his hands.  He wrapped one end around Remus' wrist and the other around Harry's.  Firmly, he grasped the fabric in the middle.  

The bright afternoon, full of sunshine and birdsong, felt discordant and wrong as he looked at the slack grey boy facing him, so still.  Remus hadn't stirred beside him either, but at least he continued to breathe, albeit shallowly.

Sirius watched as McGonagall walked briskly forward, wasting no words as her eyes were drawn to Harry, and kneeled in front of Sirius, placing her hand on his and activating the Portkey.  _She looks so sad_, he realized disjointedly.

Once again Sirius struggled to gather his bearings as he felt himself fall forward, losing grip on Harry for a moment as he tried to regain his equilibrium. The endless walls of white and light could only be one place…  the Hospital Wing.  The Portkey must have been created by Dumbledore himself to bypass all the Hogwarts wards.

"Harry?" Sirius said desperately as he tried to stand up.  He hadn't meant to let go of Harry.  He'd spilled off his lap, sprawled on the tile floor limply.  _He's not a corpse.  He's just unconscious.  It's not too late.  _Madam Pomfrey kneeled in front of Sirius as if she too had been waiting for them and gathered Harry up in her arms effortlessly.  _He's so light even she lifted him easily.  _Her eyes were dark and shadowed as she stared at Sirius for the briefest moment, then turned, rushing away.  

"Harry?" Sirius asked again, slowly struggling to his feet, intending to follow.  It felt like he was moving underwater.  Everything felt sluggish and weighed down.  _His time isn't up.  I got here so fast, there's still much they can do…  _He wished he could believe it himself, but his hope dwindled with each passing second.  

There was still something for him to do… wasn't there?  He couldn't let go now.  He couldn't bear to.  He watched Madam Pomfrey walk away and stumbled forward to follow.  

"Sirius…  Sirius, it's okay.  We've got specialists from St. Mungo's here.  They're going to be looking after him.  They'll do everything they can," McGonagall stepped into his line of vision and tried to reassure Sirius, placing a hand on his shoulder firmly both to comfort him and keep him from following Pomfrey.  Her eyes took in his trembling, then widened in concern.  "Sirius…  Have you been under the Cruciatus?" she asked.  Sirius frowned.  How could she tell?  _Creepy._

Blearily, he shook his head, desperately trying to look past her.  _Don't ask.  Don't tell.  Talking about it makes it real.  _On the far end of the room were a series of white fabric screens placed side by side, pulled like a wall to block from view anything that happened on the other side.  One folded slightly as Pomfrey whisked Harry past it, giving Sirius the briefest glimpse of two other hospital beds, both occupied.  He couldn't see their faces, but one he knew for certain had to be Snape.  

Remus groaned faintly, still unconscious as he was floated up by one of the medics.  Sirius turned and scowled at them.  "Be careful!" he scolded, and the medic who was currently moving Remus squeaked and turned grey, his eyes widening in obvious recognition.  Sirius felt powerless now that Harry was out of his arms.  He couldn't just stand there and wait for them to tell him…  _Don't think it.  Don't make it true._

"Yes, sir," the medic said in a thin, shrill voice, and Sirius remained still a moment more, torn between forcing past McGonagall or going with Remus.  McGonagall planted her feet and lowered her head, looking at him through lowered lashes and frowning at him disapprovingly.  She obviously had no intention of letting him go after his godson.

"Sirius?  Where's Harry?" Remus croaked, his voice the faintest whisper.  _You're awake!  Thank Merlin!  _Sirius glared at McGonagall once more, then turned and stumbled to his friend, taking hold of Remus' hand as if to stabilize him as he was floated onto a bed.  He ignored McGonagall, who grabbed an orderly's elbow and spoke quietly to him, looking directly at Sirius and nodding as she did so.  Once Remus was settled, Sirius carefully pulled the covers over his friend and had to refrain from tucking him in entirely.  

Sirius closed his eyes for a moment and listened closely.  The room was unnaturally silent.  Only the faintest tendrils of magic against his senses told him of the lifesaving spells being cast on the other side of the room.  

_They have silencing spells up, then_, he thought wearily, and tried to force his mind away from it for now and put on a brave face as Remus' eyes flickered open, registering where he was before settling on Sirius.  It was out of his hands.  Even though Sirius knew in his heart Harry stood a better chance with the specialists from St. Mungo's, he couldn't help but wish Harry was back in his arms.  _I'd give my life for his.  So many of us would.  Why does it have to be him…?  Stop thinking that!  _

"Sirius?" Remus asked again weakly, and Sirius forced his thoughts back to the present.  He glowered at a St. Mungo's doctor who'd begun to assess Remus, as if daring him to say something stupid about Remus being a werewolf.  

"I say…  You *are* Remus Lupin, aren't you?" the doctor asked distractedly as he glanced at a scroll he'd taken from a passing orderly's hands.  Remus nodded, then coughed, closing his eyes weakly.  Sirius looked at his friend's face closely.  Remus was sweaty and pale.  His eyes were watering, and Sirius realized that it was in response to pain.  

"I'm Dr. Niles," the doctor said, not even bothering to look up.  Sirius wasn't impressed.

"Why's it always so damned bright in here?" Remus whispered, his eyes calculating.  Even while in pain he paid close attention to Sirius' responses, and was trying to distract him.  

"The woman's name is Poppy, Remus.  What did you expect?" Sirius joked lightly, trying not to insult the doctor.  He'd only just met him, after all.  

_Okay.  Give the twerp a chance, _Sirius braced himself to respect Remus' unspoken wishes_.  _

They'd spent a great deal of time in the Hospital Wing during their school years, and it felt oddly like coming home to Sirius as he tentatively perched at the foot of Remus' bed.  

"Former professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts?  Diagnosed with Lycanthropy before puberty?" Dr. Niles continued.  Remus turned his head wearily to look at the man directly.  

He was short and thin, with glasses that carried a strong prescription, considering how large his eyes appeared behind the lenses.  The doctor had a bald spot on the back of his head that was obvious to anyone taller than a leprechaun, and Sirius found himself staring at it for a moment distractedly, before pulling his attention back to what Dr. Niles was saying.  _Keep it together.  You're getting loopy._

"Just what is this about?" Sirius asked, belatedly realizing he should have been concerned that they knew who he was.  _Merlin.Well, the terrified medic certainly had.  __Brilliant, Sirius.__  Get caught and sent back to Azkaban when Harry needs you most.  _

Sirius glanced around him discretely, warily gauging everyone's behavior.  Considering he hadn't been assaulted and wrestled to the ground yet, he figured at this point it would be safe to assume they knew the truth about him.  _Constant vigilance_, he mocked his own inattentiveness.  Nonetheless, he didn't like the tone Dr. Niles was taking with Remus.  

"I'm reading magical and physical shock, Mr. Lupin.  You've taken some internal damage and… Chocolate!  Bring that bar over here now," the doctor commanded briskly over his shoulder at the same medic that had transported Remus.  The medic froze under both the doctor and Sirius' stare before nodding and scurrying off.  Dr. Niles turned his attention back to Remus.  "You're showing signs of prolonged stress to your internal organs, but…"  

"Out with it!" Sirius barked.  He wished the man would get to the point.  Dr. Niles was sorely trying his patience...  Not that he'd had a tremendous amount to begin with.  The doctor started, losing his composure for a second before glaring at Sirius as he pushed his glasses back onto his nose.  Surreptitiously he peered at the end of his wand, his eyes crossing briefly as he did so.  Then Dr. Niles shook it gently and ran the tip of it over himself for a moment before turning it back on Remus.  He shook his head, obviously puzzled.  

"Yes, doctor?" Remus prompted gently.  Sirius turned his attention back to his friend as Remus began to nibble on the chocolate the medic handed him.  Color began to return ever so slightly to his cheeks.  With trembling hands the medic handed Sirius a slab of chocolate, and the orderly McGonagall had spoken with earlier arrived as well with a goblet of something he didn't recognize.  Sirius stared at the medic, who quickly scurried off, and the orderly, who was obviously waiting until Sirius finished the drink.  He was still unsure, afraid someone was about to scream out his name in terror and stun him into oblivion.  _Perhaps the goblet's poisoned…_

"Sirius.  Quit terrorizing the orderlies," Remus scolded and nodded at the potion.  _Well?  _Remus' tired eyes asked, then frowned in silent instruction.  _Drink it.  _Sirius raised an eyebrow and drank deeply.  _Oh well.  Here's testing my luck.  The relief that flowed through him nearly undid his composure.  He hadn't realized how badly he felt until he started to improve.  He was profoundly grateful he wasn't still standing, as he would have collapsed in a heap right then and there._

"Yes, chocolate for you as well…  Hmmm…  Prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse," the doctor muttered as he pointed his wand at Sirius, taking his vitals as well.  He glanced up at Sirius to scrutinize him, but still managed not to make eye contact.  "Sanity appears *relatively* intact…"  The rest of the doctor's words blended into background noise as Sirius watched realization dawn on Remus.  He turned deathly pale again, and Sirius knew the memory of all that transpired had come crashing down upon Remus once more.  

"Sirius?" Remus whispered in reawakened horror.  "Sirius, **how is Harry?**" he asked firmly, finally recognizing he'd been deftly sidetracked.  

"I don't know.  They've got him over there," Sirius said huskily, unable to hide his own anguish, and nodded his head over his shoulder, directing Remus' eyes to the screens behind him.  

It was taking every ounce of energy he had not to fling himself past McGonagall, past the damn screens, past the doctors, and scooping Harry up in his arms once more, willing his own magic, his own life into him.   _He can't die.  Stop thinking about this.  It's not finished yet.  The flow of magic hadn't ceased, which Sirius took to mean there was still a chance.  _

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lupin, but they must have mixed your charts with someone else," Dr. Niles said with pursed lips, shaking his head disapprovingly and turned to walk away.  

Sirius forced his attention back to the present.  "Why is that?" he tried to call after Dr. Niles, curious, but he croaked it instead.  Remus quirked his head to the side as he examined his friend closely, and Sirius braced himself for a lecture.  He knew he was falling apart, both physically and emotionally, and grasped desperately at the fraying edges of dignity that still remained to him.

"My readings show Mr. Lupin isn't a Lycanthrope.  He's as normal as you or me," the doctor said, obviously still bewildered by the charts he'd been looking at.  Sirius spluttered potion everywhere mid sip, nearly inhaling it in his surprise.  Remus' eyes widened impossibly, and he didn't notice when his chocolate slab dropped from slack fingers onto the floor.    

******************************************************************

_Hysterical.__  I'm dying, trying to save the life of the boy who killed me.  __Marvelous._  Terrific.  _Nothing like having one's past in all its sordid, suppressed details displayed for Potter to see.  I need a bath.  _

The pain was white hot, mostly in my arm, but it's fading now, and I'm able to drift within myself, away and into Potter's mind to try to catch him.  I'm chasing a ghost.  A ghost who doesn't want to be found, heard, or comforted.  He just wants the silence.  Too many voices, too many memories.  Potter is fleeing his own body, and here I insist upon pursuing him ruthlessly.  

I can still feel those faint trickles of memory… _thought?  Whatever was going through his head the moment the spell ended.  Echoes of thoughts, perhaps, because I sense so little of him now.  _

He rails that he's still alive at all.  What justice is that?  Is there no hope for peace for him?  I feel his dwindling thoughts, just as he feels my pursuit.  He's stepped into the abyss, and welcomes the freedom it gives him.  No more obligations.  No more expectations.  He's done what he can.  The rest is up to us.  It's a legacy he wants to leave me with.  I refuse to let him leave at all.  

He's drifted into the twilight between life and death, and I follow without a thought.  I think it frustrates him, even now, to know I'm choosing death *with* him rather than life without.  

I throw the question back at him.  If the roles were reversed, would he choose life over me?  He doesn't answer.  He can't of course.  But some part of him hears me nonetheless, and we both know what his response is.  

For a long time I feared for his sanity.  How could one stay sane in the midst of so much anguish?  The human mind can only take so much before it works without our knowledge to protect us.  It splinters, it fractures, it turtles up and curls itself into a ball, protecting everything vital by shielding it from view.  

I felt as each threshold was breached, each moment Potter yearned for death or madness and yet still held on.  He drew himself up from depths I'll never stop having nightmares about, clawing back to reality each time with a brutal understanding that once more he'd stepped away from a form of relief, because he was needed; he was bearing witness, and perhaps there was still something left he could do.  Because if he'd have let go, then that would mean he'd have given up, and the *doing* would have to be ***done*** by someone else.  _By me.  By Dumbledore.  By Black, and Lupin, and Granger, and the Weasleys.  _

He felt cowardly for wanting to die.  I think he still does.  But he has nothing left to give, and he's burned from the inside out, raw with the magic that exploded out of his skin.  The life energy I try to pour into him leaks out like water through too many holes in a sinking boat.  He's numb to everything but the blessed silence that engulfs and cradles him.  There is no sensation left to him.  No cold, no fever, no voices, no grief.  No love, no life.  

I have to stop for a moment, sick at heart as another truth drifts up to me, like the faintest whisp of smoke that curls around the edge of my mind before dissipating.  _He doesn't even expect to be reunited with his parents.  _

I try to examine this more closely.  It puzzles me.  Most Muggles believe in a life after death, and truthfully I'd intended to capitalize upon it to draw him to me, and keep him from dying.  

_Is he atheist?_  He can't be. He knows there are such things as spirits.  He's met plenty of them at Hogwarts.  The knowledge dawns on me gently.  _He doesn't know what happiness *is* anymore.  He can't conceive of anything good happening to him.  Even in death he has no expectations at joy, a reunion, or comfort.  Just an end.  _

I plow faster towards him.  It's a thin boundary between life and death, and can be crossed easily.  I have no intention of letting him get away from me.  I know while I'm here my own body doesn't breathe and my own heart doesn't pump.  Another does that for me, their presence a ridiculous comfort as I go after the fractured spirit before me.  

I'm not afraid of death.  I haven't been for a long time.  I even thought it a condition of my unemployment for many years.  I think I may have even viewed it a bit like Potter does; as the chance not to feel pain or guilt anymore, as a freedom from the burden of responsibility I'd placed upon my own shoulders.  _But he didn't ask for his responsibility, did he?_

No longer.  I feel I must be the one who's insane.  _Who else can claim that it was Potter who gave them a new lease on life?  Literally?_  Even here, in the dusk of death, I feel my own laughter bubble up around me like champagne just poured in a glass.  _Hysterical, really.  Potter's spirit slows his descent.  _

_Why did he slow down?  Was it me?  Did he hear me?  Was it my laughter?_  I move tentatively forward.  I think he's still unaware of me in all the ways that count, falling further into, or out of himself, distancing his spirit from anything that can make him *feel*.  

But he slowed a bit.  _Can I do it again?  I cringe at the thought.  Humor for the sake of humor, and not at someone else's expense, is *not* something I excel at.  He still drifts away, but not as quickly.  __Is he waiting for me?  __Is he even waiting at all, or am I reading into things?  Forget the humor, Severus, it'll never work._

He's so close now.  I can feel the tendrils of Harry's essence, his life energy, of everything that makes him Harry Potter.  He's still dying, as am I, but appears to have deigned to allow me this luxury.  If I insist on dying, too, the least I can do is die *with* him, and not alone.  

_How can he know?_  I freeze a moment, shocked.  How can he know this fear of mine?  The comfort I succumbed to again and again, crawling back to Albus to heal me instead of curling up and letting the darkness hide my pain and cloak my silent passage.  It wasn't relief or forgiveness that I seeked, but companionship.  A place where, no matter what, they would notice my absence… My passing.  

I wonder if it shocked Potter to learn this about me.  After all, how can someone like myself seek such things?  Even before Potter's memories of my transgressions against him became my own as well, I knew how the student body perceived me.  And I welcomed it.  I still do.  

_Weak and sniveling, the lot of them._Ill prepared for the big bad world.  *Life* isn't fair.  It isn't right.  The good guy doesn't always win.  Justice is fickle, and blind, and bitter.  The dreams of our youth are smashed against the stormy rocks of reality, and drift away, broken and lost and so… naïve.  

Some would argue that *this* knowledge will come soon enough to the children.  Why take away what little joy is left to them?  Once, I would have argued that if they're better prepared to protect themselves from hurt, if they're better armored against reality, then perhaps it won't be as devastating when it happens.  

But my arguments are useless in the face of this boy before me now.  What if there was no 'joy of youth'?  What if cold, hard reality was *always* there?  What if he'd been prepared for it, and lived it, all his life?  What can I say to that?  

My arguments sound pathetic and weak and infantile.  He already knows everything I've ever strived to teach.  And all I can do is wish I'd been gentler, less cutting, less bitter over that which I'd known nothing about.  _But if I'd have known, would I have been?  _Probably not.  I positively *hate* being honest with myself.

I reach my own consciousness out and gently start to wrap it around him.  I do it slowly, tentatively; afraid I'll scare him off.  He stills, unaware, his unconscious completely in control.  I pull him to me closely.  _Hah!  Hah hah!_

**I have you, Harry** I say, and slow both our descent into the murky depths of oblivion.  When I took on the burden of the harboring spell to keep Potter tied to life, I knew it would most likely be the death of me.  It was a chance Albus was willing to take, and I as well.  But since we first initiated the spell, I'd never felt I'd be able to truly *aid* Potter.  Not in any way that mattered.  I'm not good company, and the life energy given was only a delay for the inevitable.  But *this*…  _This I can do.  _

They say time heals all wounds, and only just recently I would have laughed at that statement.  Time doesn't heal, a bad memory does.  Those of us cursed with astute memories have no such luxury.  But I refuse to believe that after all Potter has gone through, Death is his reward.  _I won't have it.  _With my last breath I fully intend to insure just the opposite, in fact.  

I hold his soul close, and subtly slow, then cease his tumble towards death.  We still, motionless in a place neither living nor dead.  I try to sense any sentience within the essence I hold so closely, but there is no stir within him, no consciousness at all.  Only silence… then, the gentle thrum of my heartbeat.  

Power swells within me, energy, magic, life…  freely given and freely accepted, and I can feel, even here, as I take my first breath.  I allow that same surge of life to flow into Harry as well, reaffirming my hold on him.  The link between Potter and I synchronizes the breaths I now take and the blood my heart now pumps, and I can't help but feel ridiculously giddy.  He's breathing.  His heart is beating.  

I've got him securely now, although his respiration is still faint and his pulse thready.  _It will only get stronger_.  I realize it's more of a vow than a prediction.  He's so still in my arms, or what passes for them in this place, and so much damage has been wrought upon him both physically and emotionally.  But it doesn't matter for now.  I know I'm smiling foolishly, but Potter won't notice.  The immediate danger is over.  He's not dying today.  Neither am I.  Neither is Albus.  The rest, although it may not necessarily take care of itself, as the trite cliché says, can wait.

I wonder with no little sense of irony what Harry would say if he realized that if he'd died, I wouldn't have been the only one to go with him?  That the same spell that anchors me to him, anchors me to Albus.  _Crafty bastard.  There's no way Harry would have permitted it, and no way I'd still be alive if it hadn't been for Albus' magic fueling us both, and buffering the backlash as well._

_But enough of that_.  There's plenty of time for truths and revelations.  Right now, all I need to do is keep Potter close, keep him alive, and let nature do the rest.  He's got a lot of recovering to do anyway.  _No sense having him wake up in pain_.

**Take your time here, Harry.  You're safe.  You're not going anywhere,** I tell him, although I know he can't really hear me, and send the briefest message of reassurance down my own link with Albus.  He responds in kind, and I settle in for a long wait, wondering what, if anything, Potter's spell did to me.  

**TBC…**


	38. In the Telling

**Disclaimer**:  You know the drill.  Not mine…

**Author's Note**:  As you can see, Book 5 is out and I didn't make my deadline.  Trust me when I tell you I *really* wish I had.  But alas…  It's now officially AU.  

Just to let you know, until I finish this story (one more chapter to go, plus one or two epilogues), I've chosen not to read Book 5.  In part because I know I won't get *anything* done until I've finished OotP, and partly because I want to keep this story within the context of which the majority of it was written.  

That being said, I heard something the other day I *really* hope isn't true, but if it is, don't tell me, okay?  Just know that, yes, I fully intend to finish, and as always I yearn for reviews.  It's awfully quiet out there in fandom, so I'd love to hear from you (just no spoilers, okay?)

**Chapter 38**

"What is he doing here?!  Arthur, how could you bring him?" Sirius' cries startled Remus awake so quickly he was struggling to find his wand before he was even fully aware of his surroundings.  

"He asked to come, Sirius, and I think he has a right to," Arthur's gentle reply drifted from the door.  Remus worked to sit up in bed, trying to still his pounding heart.  He found his wand on the nightstand, and with trembling fingers grasped it tightly, trying to determine what had caused Sirius so much distress.  He weakly pushed himself forward to get a better look at what was going on, blinking his eyes to try to get them to focus properly.  Sirius was striding purposefully for the door, hands clenched into fists as he headed directly for Percy Weasley.  _Uh oh._

"Come to view your handywork?" Sirius snarled huskily, and Remus tried to throw his legs off the bed.  It was more like a topple.  _This is going to go bad quickly.  Arthur, Bill and Percy Weasley all stood in the doorway to the Hogwarts infirmary.  Even from this distance, Remus could see Percy's eyes goggle.  _

_He's never seen Sirius before.  He has to know he's innocent, but_…, Remus couldn't stop the tiniest bubble of amusement as he reached for his robe and with great effort managed to wrestle it on.  _Sirius on a good day is intimidating.  He refused to think how heavy the robe felt in his hands.  He tried even harder not to think about how everyone's first response when they met Sirius used to be charmed, not terrified.   _

Sirius never slowed as he headed for Percy, and Remus aimed his wand to stop him.  Sirius had been sitting with Harry for days. Remus knew what kind of emotional state he was in.  If he got his hands on Percy, Sirius *would* kill him.  

"Sirius, stop," Bill said firmly, stepping directly in front of his brother.  Remus raised his eyebrows in surprise as Bill purposely sheathed his wand and put his arms on Sirius' shoulders.  Sirius pushed forward, forcing Bill a few steps back.  Bill began talking quietly, urgently to Sirius as he blocked his path, trying to gain his attention, but Sirius barely noticed Bill.  His eyes kept sliding back to Percy.

"Sirius, listen to me.  You and I both know what he did.  **But so does he.  He knows he was wrong.  He's been helping us.  If it weren't for him, we might not have such a strong case against Fudge," Bill said intently as he stood in front of his brother and tried to capture Sirius' eyes.**

"He.." Sirius said, and his voice cracked.  Remus winced at the raw pain so plainly evident and sent yet another silent prayer to the powers that be for Harry to survive.  If he didn't…  Remus shook his head.  They all knew what was at stake.  

"He might not recover.  The damage is so severe, and the lingering effects of the Veritaserum in his system are hindering his ability to heal," Sirius explained, his voice gruff and unsteady.  _It's as if he's trying to get Bill's permission to *let* him kill Percy_, Remus realized idly and wrapped his hands around the arms of the chair beside his bed, forcing weight onto his feet.  He might yet need to stun Sirius.

He didn't collapse, which was a good thing.  Remus pushed himself to stand, and watched as Madam Pomfrey came from behind the screens to see what all the commotion was about.  She headed towards the door first, then her eyes lit on Remus, who'd frozen, hoping to escape her notice.  

"Remus Lupin!  What are you doing out of bed?" Pomfrey exclaimed, and Remus tried to smile reassuringly at her.  _Trying to get to Sirius before he *does* commit murder_.  _Do *not* put me back in bed,  Remus_ thought firmly, but said nothing.  Partly because he knew if she did, he'd be too weak to stop her.  He watched Pomfrey's expression change from irritation and concern to comprehension as she noticed Bill holding Sirius back.  

"Come on.  I've got enough patients," she muttered so that only Remus could hear, and brought her hand under his elbow to help support his weight as he took his first tottering steps towards the conflict.  His tiny shuffles weren't getting him far.  Remus shot a grateful look at the kindly matron who he'd come to care for deeply since his first years at Hogwarts.  He was genuinely surprised she hadn't shooed everyone out the moment voices were raised.

"Not all wounds are physical," she whispered discretely at Remus' puzzled expression.  He was shocked by her intuitive grasp of the situation.  

"Sirius, he feels horrible.  Let him see for himself what he's done," Bill said in a moment of stark insight.  Percy flinched.  Arthur remained on the sidelines, watching everyone closely.  It was unexpected when Remus noted the tip of Arthur's wand peeking out from under his robes, kept discretely out of sight until it was needed.  _You still surprise me, Arthur.  _There was so much more to Arthur Weasley than most ever saw.

"What happened to Harry is on your head," Sirius pronounced as he locked eyes with Percy, then purposefully stepped back and out of Bill's reach.  Bill sighed with relief and  stepped into the ward.  Remus knew the danger wasn't over, but at least a truce had been struck, at least temporarily.

"I know," a soft reply filled the shocked stillness of the infirmary.  It was Percy himself who answered.  Sirius nodded once then turned to seek out the source of the scuffling noises that filled the stunned silence.  Sirius eyes widened, the manic fury fading as consternation replaced it.  

"Thanks," Remus heard Arthur say softly to Bill, and realized he was thanking Bill for protecting Percy.  

"That's what family is for," Bill replied stiffly, and Percy looked nauseous with guilt.  Bill flashed a wry grin as he noticed his dad sheath his wand, completely ignoring his brother.  There was pride in that smile.  

"What are you doing out of bed?" Sirius asked in stern tones and headed towards Remus, frowning in disapproval.  _Where have I heard that before? Remus thought dryly, then realized his own wand was still in his hand.  Discretely, he tucked it within his robes.  It wouldn't do for Sirius to realize Remus had been about to hex him._

"It's unseemly to let you assault people who aren't even here to see us," Remus scolded gently.  Arthur frowned.  

"That's not true, Remus.  Honestly, I wanted to come down here days ago.  I'm sorry I couldn't."  Even drifting in and out of consciousness, Remus was well aware of the scrutiny and pressure Arthur currently was under as the figurehead of the rebellion against the Ministry.

Just a few glimpses of the Daily Prophet showed exactly where Arthur spent his time:  Standing before committees and explaining his every action and decision.  Evidently not everyone realized Arthur only intended to take on the mantle of Minister of Magic temporarily.  

Along with the Ministry trials, the newly launched investigations into the Unspeakables appeared to have captured the Wizarding world's imagination.  Even though he knew the Daily Prophet loved to sensationalize, Remus was well aware of the public's existing fascination with Unspeakables.  Turning evidence against their own proved sordid and tawdry reading, and the public apparently was eating it up.  

"Yes.  You've been busy, or so I've read," Remus observed dryly.  Arthur actually blushed.  

"Thank Merlin the Daily Prophet is on my side this time.  Did you know Rita Skeeter has taken to sending flowers to my wife nearly every day?" he said, his voice a few octaves higher than normal.  Remus snorted in surprise.  

"You have to admit, Arthur, you're the best thing to happen to her in a while," Remus replied.  Bill coughed.

"Comparitively speaking, of course," Arthur agreed, and abruptly Remus pictured Hermione Granger vigorously shaking a glass jar with a furious beetle inside.

"Why don't we find a place for you to sit," Bill asked Remus solicitously, glancing at Pomfrey who nodded in approval.  Although he wanted to protest, Remus still hadn't made it across the room.  He sighed softly in defeat.  Sirius began noisily dragging a chair from beside one of the beds.  

"Where do you want it?" Sirius asked a bit loudly.  Remus glanced at the wall of privacy screens that hid Harry from view.  Sirius followed his gaze and nodded solemnly, pulling the chair out of sight.  They both knew the real reason why Arthur was here.  Albus Dumbledore had woken up last night.

"How is he doing?" Arthur asked quietly.  Remus was about to reply that he had no idea how Albus was doing, but realized that Arthur had meant Sirius.  _Oh.  _

"He took the Cruciatus for a considerable amount of time, but they believe he'll recover completely.  He's still quite malnourished, but that won't last long," Remus answered.  Pomfrey snorted in agreement beside him.  He patted her hand with a grin.  

"They found Pettigrew's body," Arthur said.  Remus froze, eyes wide.  "I want to take Sirius to the Ministry and have them question him under Veritaserum.  I'm worried about him, Remus.  He's at risk every moment he's out in the open like this.  The sooner his name is cleared, the better."  Remus swallowed, overwhelmed.  

He'd waited so long for this moment.  He was surprised by the bitter rage on Sirius' behalf that swelled in his heart.  Too little, too late.  Some of this must have shown in his eyes, for Arthur looked miserable.

"I know.  It's pathetic, isn't it?  Twelve years…  What can recompense that?  I've arranged for a considerable sum to be deposited in his Gringotts account, whose assets have been unfrozen.  He'll never need to work, unless he so chooses," Arthur said, and shrugged, swallowing several times.  

"Why does it seem so meager?  I've wanted to hear this so desperately, and please don't get me wrong,  I'm profoundly grateful for your efforts, Arthur.  But it just seems like so little, too late…" Remus tried to explain.  The grief and outrage for his friend seemed to twist like something living just beneath his skin.

"Harry wanted it.  It meant more to him than his own life," Percy stated softly, and the determined, solemn expression on Harry's face just before he was taken by the Aurors flashed vividly before Remus' mind's eye.  _Yes.  The truth helped to calm his frayed nerves and settle some of the anger and agitation he felt.  __Why do I feel like this?  Is this because the wolf is gone?  _

Even if Sirius' freedom felt like a pathetic gesture, it would mean the world to Harry.  Remus nodded.

"I agree.  Let's get Sirius' name cleared, so Harry doesn't have to endure the anxiety of Sirius' testimony," Remus said.  Arthur nodded, relieved.  _You're right to push this, and also to come to me first.  It's going to take a lot of work to get Sirius away from Harry's bedside, even for a moment._

"Thank you, Remus.  And how are you doing?  I heard the most amazing news," Arthur said with a gentle smile.  

Remus closed his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by conflicting emotions.  _I'm free_.  He realized belatedly that it had even been an hour or so since he'd thought about it.  As if feeling like this was perfectly normal.  

The tidal surge of blind rage that burbled just below his consciousness was gone.  He no longer had to fight his own instincts.  The beast within him had been silenced.  Instead, he was left with only his own thoughts.  His own emotions.  He was free of the Curse, the pain, the pervasive sense of dread that as each day passed, he was carried irrevocably closer towards insanity or death.    

And although he would still feel better once he'd survived his first full moon, he already knew the truth.  The utter stillness was breathtaking in its simplicity.  It was just him.  *He* was just a man.  The predator that lurked within the shadowed corners of his mind was gone.  He was normal.  He struggled to suppress the strangled sobs that even now threatened to completely tear apart his composure. 

This wondrous, amazing gift he'd been given was too much.  The price was too high to reconcile.  Would he trade being a werewolf again if it helped Harry, even now?  Without hesitation.  He'd been given the one thing in life he never even dared to dream of.  The Wolfsbane Potion had been enough.  

But this…  No words could properly explain why he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time; that even these few moments of peace were enough to last him for a lifetime, and that he desperately wanted to give it all back for just one more chance to help Harry.  

Instead, Remus said, "It's true.  I'm cured." Such simple words for something so overwhelming...  Pomfrey's breathing hitched beside him, and she squeezed his hand.  Arthur's face lit with an enormous smile.  

"I'm so happy for you, Remus.  Do you…," he started to ask, then stopped, shaking his head.  _He must have been about to ask what happened.  _It was the general consensus that *no one* had a clear idea what happened at Azkaban.  "How is your recovery going?" Arthur rephrased his question.

"With the proper amount of bed rest, potions, and time, he'll be nearly as good as new," Pomfrey pronounced.  Remus disagreed.  No matter how much damage he'd taken internally, he'd never be anything but *better* than new.

Finally they arrived at the wall of privacy screens.  Sirius peeked out from behind one and stared at Percy, his eyes nearly black as he pulled it to the side to allow everyone to enter.  Remus watched Percy Weasley closely.  

His bearing was rigid with tension, his freckles the only color on his face.  He had the careful posture of someone who'd practiced not letting his shoulders slump and to look everyone in the eye.  He carried himself with puffy dignity, but it seemed as if there was no heart in it anymore, as if he was partially deflated.  His legs moved jerkily as if he were forcing himself forward while his mind screamed at him to run.  _I would want to if I were him, Remus thought grimly, and noted Percy's horror and guilt, so plainly etched on his face, with satisfaction.  _

Remus gingerly settled in the chair Sirius had procured for him, letting out a large sigh of relief.  Sirius settled in the chair directly beside Harry's bed, where he'd been most of the time since they'd arrived.  Normally he leaned forward and talked softly to Harry, brushing absently at his flyaway hair.  Today he perched like a gargoyle on the chair, his accusing eyes on Percy.

Remus could sympathize with the Weasleys' shocked faces.  Pomfrey gently placed a blanket over Remus' lap, and he realized he'd begun shivering.  Sirius' hard expression shifted each time he glanced at Harry.  His eyes were haunted, lost, tender, hopeful, and angry all at once.

Harry didn't even look like a teenager anymore.  His mouth and eyes were lined with the weeks of constant pain he'd endured.  His cheekbones jutted out sharply, and the skin underneath his eyes was nearly a purplish black.  His lips were dry and cracked, tinged the faintest blue, and his neck looked tiny compared to his head.

The body beneath the layers of charmed blankets was childlike.  His limbs were visibly stick thin, even with the heaps of fabric laid upon him.  He could have been twelve.  He could have been older than Dumbledore.  

_And this is an improvement_, Remus thought bitterly.  Percy looked like he hovered between wanting to faint and vomit, caught indecisively between the two.  Sirius' eyes bore into Percy ruthlessly, but Remus could not tell what his friend was thinking.  

Harry's breathing had evened out to deeper, larger lungfulls of air rather than the shallow panting he'd done when the mediwizards had first revived him.  Remus found himself checking Harry's pulse constantly, and noticed in just the past day or so that the thready flutter of his heartbeat had slowed to a more steady, calmer rhythm.  

Harry's skin was thin and pale, like fine, dry parchment, and Remus could clearly see the bluish veins just below the surface.  His coloring nearly matched the hospital linens, and only the dark shock of black eyebrows and hair were easily visible.  

"Merlin," Bill said, almost involuntarily.  He jerked his head away and glanced towards Pomfrey.  "He's…  Do you know if...?" Bill tried to ask.  His voice sounded thick.  Madam Pomfrey pressed her lips together grimly and shook her head.  

"He's been stabilized by all the energy Albus and Severus were able to send him through the _Portus__ Animus spell, but as for if he'll wake up…  Only time will tell," she replied.  _

Percy's throat swallowed spasmodically as he wrapped his trembling arms around himself, as if to ward off sudden chills.  Bill reached forward to rest a hand on Harry's shoulder, then hesitated, catching himself and letting his arm drop back at his side.  _That's right, Remus remembered.  __Sirius told me Bill was here right after the Triwizard Tournament.  _

It was Arthur's reaction that Remus expected the least.  Tears streamed down his face completely unnoticed.  He approached the bed tentatively, as if afraid even his footsteps would prove too much for Harry to handle.  

"Oh, my boy.  Look what they've done to you," he whispered, and with a haunted expression looked up at Remus.  "I couldn't do it sooner," he said, his voice hushed, then turned his eyes to Sirius, who was now watching him closely.  Arthur cleared his throat quietly, and spoke again.

"I tried to arrange for the assault when they first brought Harry in.  I knew…" He cleared his throat again.  "His dreams were so bad, I knew I didn't have much time.  But the whole thing would have blown apart if I'd pushed it.  I'm so sorry, Harry," he said huskily, and gently brushed his fingers against the side of Harry's face.  "I failed you."  

"No, Arthur.  You did not," a weak voice disagreed from the furthest bed.  Snape lay in the bed beside Harry, and Albus Dumbledore was in the last bed, closest to the infirmary window.  He was sitting up, supported by a mountain of pillows, his nightcap askew on his head and his glasses firmly in place.  _When did you wake up?  _He'd been asleep when they'd first arrived, Remus knew, so the Headmaster must have wakened, put on his glasses and sat up in bed, all without anyone noticing. 

Of course, now that he'd made himself known, Madam Pomfrey was immediately taking his vitals and summoning some broth and tea from the house elves.  Arthur pulled away from Harry reluctantly, straightening his robes as he approached Albus Dumbledore's bed.  Albus had more cups brought to the nightstand, and insisted Arthur pour himself some as well.

"I did, Albus.  He was left in my care, and I wasn't able to protect him," Arthur replied wearily.  Albus shook his head in disagreement, his beard sweeping back and forth upon his lap.  

Remus understood what Arthur was implying.  *It was my son who betrayed him.*  Percy seemed to sense it as well.  He remained the furthest from Harry's bed, pressed against the screens.  He would glance at his father from time to time, but for the most part his eyes were locked on Harry.

Bill drifted to stand beside his father.  There were two chairs on either side of Dumbledore's bed, and Remus noted with a touch of amusement that both father and son headed towards the chair furthest from Snape.  Arthur sat heavily, and with just the twitch of an eyebrow sent Bill to settle in the chair closer to Severus.  _Seniority has its privileges._  Albus politely pretended not to notice.  Instead, he waited for Arthur to speak. 

"How are you?" Arthur finally asked.  

"I'm well, thank you.  How are your children?" Albus asked.  Arthur nodded.

"Good.  They're good."  

"So, what did I miss?" Albus asked blithely.  Arthur nearly spat up the tea he was sipping.  Sirius stirred beside Remus, and without thinking he put a hand on Sirius' forearm to calm him.  Such a flippant statement was bound to trigger Sirius' temper.  

"Wait, Sirius," Remus counseled, and thankfully Sirius listened, albeit not happily.  

"Quite a bit, I'd say," Arthur replied to the Headmaster with a quirk of his lips.  Drinking slowly, Remus watched as the Headmaster's presence and his determined ritual for tea soothed Arthur's guilt a bit and allowed a hint of humor to show through once again.

"I know you have many questions, but I'm afraid I'm not up to date with what's been happening.  Why don't you start with your side of things?" Albus prompted.  Arthur nodded, and began to speak.

The picture Arthur Weasley painted was grim.  The Ministry was a mess.  While the rest of the Wizarding world read page after page of damning evidence against Cornelius Fudge, Arthur was left trying to pick up the pieces and justify his actions at the same time.  

The raids against the Grindelwald Recovery Foundation and the Ministry itself had proven the simplest, much to Bill's disgust.

"Fudge didn't bother with more than rudimentary concealing spells," he grumbled.  "It was pathetic.  A third year could have broken them, if anyone had ever bothered to *****look*.  All this evidence has just been *waiting*…" As his voice trailed off, Remus realized it wasn't disappointment at the lack of a challenge, but that the raid itself should have been done long ago.

"Clifton has already submitted ample altered documents into Ministry Evidence which are currently being compared with the originals you told us about in the Catacombs," Arthur added.  Albus Dumbledore held his teacup with both hands and sipped thoughtfully as he listened.  

"Clifton has the remarkable ability of distinguishing garbage from gems.  Even as bureaucratic as the Foundation is, he was able to provide the first wave of concrete evidence directly linked to Cornelius Fudge himself," Bill added.     

"Excellent.  How did young Charlie fare?" he prompted.  

Dumbledore's voice was quiet and muted, and Remus puzzled for a moment just what exactly felt different about the Headmaster.  _Power_.  That was it.  Dumbledore always seemed to radiate that extra bit of energy that made people sit up and take notice.  Even at his most harmless, Dumbledore's presence commanded people's respect

Now, however, his presence appeared to have been diminished.  Even with the riotous colors of the nightgown McGonagall had undoubtedly brought for him (purple with a kaleidoscope of colored balls that were enchanted to bounce from pajama wrinkle to pajama wrinkle), or the lime green nightcap that, oddly, appeared to match said gown, he looked sallow and exhausted, as if old age had not just crept up on him but instead assaulted and bludgeoned him repeatedly.  

"The Dracontine Division is more complex.  Specialists were brought in right away.  There are ample cursed objects and magical creatures to investigate, as well as an abundance of attempts to combine Muggle technology with magic," Arthur said.  Albus nodded.  

"Fudge appears to have been obsessed with replicating magical substances and materials with Muggle ones," Arthur continued.

"Evidently, Fudge was attempting to find ways of defrauding the Magical community as well.  Remarkable.  That will go a long way towards turning the Wizarding public against him.  Especially those segments that don't care what happens to Muggles," Albus murmured.  Arthur nodded.  Sympathies waver when one's own pocketbook is involved.

"True.  I hadn't thought of that.  I don't think we need the help at this point, though.  The Daily Prophet is currently crucifying him."  

"How about that dragon?" Albus asked, and Remus could have sworn his beard twitched.

"That's going to take longer to deal with.  It can barely move about the room, and has never flown a day in its life.  I know the day is young, but so far my son has managed not to adopt it or turn it into a personal crusade.  He's currently settling in with Ellis to begin the process of sifting through Muggle technology for magical evidence.  By all accounts there is quite a bit to go through," Arthur reported.

"A Galleon says we end up with the dragon in our backyard within a month," Bill muttered.

"I won't take that bet," Arthur said with the faintest of smiles.  Albus shifted to get more comfortable against the pillows.  It was a very *human* thing to do, and a definite reminder that he'd only just woken up the night before.  

"Perhaps that's enough for one day, Headmaster Dumbledore," Madam Pomfrey said gently as she plumped a couple of the pillows behind him.  

"No.  There's much left to discuss, and I suspect Arthur is in dire need of some answers.  Unfortunately, there are some things I still must know.  Firstly, how did the arrests go?" Albus asked.  

"Arresting Fudge went beautifully.  Happensdam was packing to go when we nabbed him.  He's already confessed, and is willing to testify against Cornelius," Arthur said.  

"He has much to be frightened about," Albus replied grimly, and his eyes seemed to glitter.  The atmosphere in the Hospital Wing almost appeared to shimmer for a moment, as if the air itself darkened with the Headmaster's mood.  

"We lost seven in Azkaban, including Pickering," Arthur said solemnly.  Sirius stirred at Remus' side.  He turned to watch his friend, whose eyes turned towards Arthur.

"Forrest Pickering?" he asked, his voice flat.  Arthur nodded.  

"Yes, Sirius.  One of the Aurors who arrested you."  There was a pause as Arthur swallowed a couple of times.  Remus suspected the two must have been friends.  

"Speaking of which, I have some things for you," Arthur said, his expression unreadable as he reached into the folds of his robes.  "It's already been examined by the Ministry and released from Evidence."  Arthur handed Sirius a wand.  Remus frowned.  That wasn't…

"I thought they broke it," Sirius blurted in a heartbroken voice.  

"Forrest convinced them that it could prove valuable in trial against you…  He tried very hard to get you a hearing, Sirius.  He thought you were guilty, but he still felt you deserved to have your side heard," Arthur said.  "I have Harry's wand, too."  Sirius' eyes widened in surprise as he took Harry's wand from Arthur and held it tentatively, as if it were made of glass.  "He'll want to have it when he wakes up."

Sirius' expression fell for the briefest moment as a sob escaped him, and Remus had to look away as his dearest friend tried to compose himself.  By the time Remus looked back, Sirius' face was once again impassive, but his eyes swirled with emotion.  

"Do I have Pickering to thank for that as well?" Sirius asked roughly.  Arthur nodded.  "How did he…?" Sirius asked softly, sensitive to Arthur's grief.  Was Sirius glad?  Did the Auror treat him badly, or was he sympathetic?  Remus couldn't begin to gauge Sirius' responses.

"He was Kissed," Arthur replied, his own voice breaking for a moment as he scrubbed his hands wearily against his face.  Sirius paled considerably, but did not say anything.  

"He knew the risks, Arthur," Albus tried to reassure.

"Why didn't he die when the Dementors did?" Arthur asked angrily.  "That should have happened, shouldn't it?"

"Alas, I'm afraid not.  But his soul *is* free, Arthur.  Of that I'm sure."  

"Every single Dementor on the island was destroyed.  Those Death Eaters involved in the attack who weren't killed outright are now veritable squibs," Arthur said, leaning forward intently.  "We're sorting through the prisoners now, and so far it appears that much of same has occurred with them as well…  Which leads me to the burning question:  What happened?  I know about the Portkey, but what about all that happened before it?"  

This was the moment Remus had been waiting for as well.  He'd been able to guess much, but there were still so many pieces missing.  

"It appears young Harry Potter is capable of wandless magic," Dumbledore answered vaguely.  Arthur shook his head.  

"This was Harry?  He did this?" Arthur asked incredulously.  Albus nodded.  

"Isn't this what your assault teams reported?" Albus asked curiously.

"It is, but…  Albus, what spell was it that he used?" Arthur asked.

"What spell does it appear he used?" Albus countered.  

"The Killing Curse," Arthur whispered.  

"A variation of it, yes," Dumbledore agreed.  "Mr. Potter took the Killing Curse and focused it on Dark Magic instead of an individual.  Namely, Voldemort," he explained.  

"How could he do that?  He's fifteen," Arthur asked numbly.  

"He's a powerful wizard," Albus replied.  

"You can't leave this on him alone," Remus protested, nearly standing up in concern.  The irony of Sirius' hand on Remus' shoulder to help calm him didn't escape him.

"Why?  I think Harry has once and for all time proven just how strong a wizard he is," Albus answered, and Remus couldn't shake the feeling that the Headmaster was baiting him.  

"Because he used Dark Magic.  It won't be much of a stretch for the Ministry to decide he's the most powerful *Dark* wizard since Voldemort," Percy answered for them all.  Sirius stood abruptly, toppling the chair he'd previously been sitting in, and went to go for Percy.  There was no pause or hesitation, just movement.

"He's right, Sirius.  This could end up hurting Harry.  How do we protect him?" Remus asked, his hand shooting out and latching firmly onto Sirius' robes.  Sirius turned burning eyes on Remus, but did not pull his robe free.  

"We tell the public that I was the one to cast the curse," Albus replied.  

"That's an awful lot of Memory Charms, Albus," Arthur said, shaking his head doubtfully.  

"Not physically.  Through the _Portus__ Animus spell that linked Severus Snape to Harry," Dumbledore stated.  _

"And Snape to you," Remus marvelled.  Dumbledore turned approving eyes on Remus.  

"Yes, Remus.  And me to Severus.  Fascinating how the spell ended up actually working.  Much like a domino effect, really.  Harry's will fuelled the Killing Curse; the energy he drew from Severus allowed him to focus it specifically, and the energy I provided allowed for both of them to survive how Magic itself mutated those commands," Dumbledore said, his eyes bright.  Clearly he found it intriguing.  

"Magic mutated it?" Sirius asked.  Remus was grateful Sirius was paying attention to the conversation.  He took it for a good sign.  Letting go of Sirius' robes, Remus gingerly righted the toppled chair for him.

"This delves quite a bit into magical theory.  I dare say I've learned more about magic in the past week or so than I have in many years," Dumbledore said.  

"Magic isn't finite," Remus said aloud, remembering the predominant theories he'd studied at Hogwarts.  Sirius sat heavily.  

"So it would seem," Dumbledore answered demurely.  His calm exterior didn't hide the light in his eyes.  

"So Harry's curse couldn't *kill* Dark Magic," Remus speculated, following the logic.  

"So it mutated into… what?  Stripping wizards of Dark Magic?" Bill asked, his expression intrigued.  

"It fed itself.  I watched the light pulse as Harry spoke the curse.  The Dark Magic was stripped from Voldemort, then the Dementors, and fed back into Harry, which then shot back out to seize the Death Eaters, then the Aurors," Sirius answered, his eyes unfocused, clearly visualizing what had happened.  Remus suppressed a shudder.  He remembered all too well just how it felt to have the magic searching through everything that made him human, passing judgement.  

"Remus' Lycanthropy," Arthur stated.

"Precisely.  It took out the Dark Curse of Remus' Lycanthropy, but left the rest of his magic untouched…" Dumbledore said certainly.  "Harry never intended the curse for anyone but Voldemort." 

"So much for magic being neutral," Remus said with a frown.  He'd been rather partial to that theory himself.

"Ah, but it is," Dumbledore said in what Remus could have sworn sounded like professorial tones.  

"Not if it knew what Dark Magic was," Bill agreed with Remus.  

"But did it?  Who cast the spell?" Albus prompted, not waiting for an answer.  "Who set the parameters of what it could do?  When the spell couldn't perform the way Harry intended it to, it turned to Harry to define just what he considered Dark."  

"Merlin.  A Curse that managed to mutate and find a way to sustain itself.  It could have gone on forever," Arthur said, shocked at the ramifications.  

"Fortunate for us that Azkaban is as isolated as it is," Dumbledore agreed.  They all sat in stunned silence for a while.  

"What stopped it?" Remus finally asked.  

"It ran out of fuel, so to speak.  It extended itself as far as it could, then backlashed once there was no longer any Dark Magic to convert," Dumbledore replied. 

"What about Harry, then?" Sirius demanded, distraught.  Magical backlash from failed spells had killed many a witch and wizard. 

"Thankfully, Harry was protected from the majority of the energy surge," Dumbledore replied wearily.  There was no mystery as to who had been the buffer.  

"So, you're going to say you performed the Killing Curse through Harry?" Bill asked.

"Exactly.  No need for memory charms.  Only those here, who I trust implicitly, know the truth," Albus replied.  Sirius glared at Percy.  

"I don't trust him," he stated flatly.  Remus had to agree with him.

"Sirius Black, you have my oath as acting Minister of Magic that my son will do nothing to endanger the life or well being of Harry *ever* again," Arthur promised solemnly.  Percy's face was flat, but his eyes were suspiciously wet.

"And if he does?" Sirius persisted.  

"He won't," Bill said.  "If he does, I'll Memory Charm him."  

"I promised Harry I'd protect him," Percy said, looking straight at Sirius, and it was as if he'd just dropped a mask.  His face was contorted with grief and guilt.  His eyes begged for forgiveness, even though he dared not speak the words.  "I swore he wouldn't have to take Veritaserum, and he did," he croaked, sounding very young.  Percy appeared to hunch in upon himself, making him seem much smaller, and his hands were curled into fists.  Sirius looked sick.  

"An Oath?" Dumbledore asked.  Percy nodded.  The faintest hint of magic was the only indication to Remus that Dumbledore was testing the weight of the Oath.  Whatever he sensed, it was enough to raise both of his eyebrows high into his forehead.  "Indeed."  

Sirius alone was unimpressed, but the rest of the room appeared to begin to believe him.  Percy had given a Wizard's Oath to protect Harry, and failed.  Should he endanger Harry again, the Magic would extract a heavy price.

"So how was Harry able to perform Dark Magic?" Arthur asked, bringing the discussion back.  

"It appears that not only the castors are imbued with Dark Magic.  Their victims are as well," Dumbledore replied.  "Harry's dreams and the connection to Voldemort have provided ample exposure."  Remus sighed wearily.  _More than enough._

"So with this link you have with Severus…  Does it inadvertently link you with Harry?" he asked.  Sirius gasped.  He hadn't been as aware of the particulars of the spell.  Dumbledore shook his head.  

"I wish it could.  I cannot reach Harry directly.  However, I have been able to speak with Severus.  While he cannot sense Harry's consciousness, he has been able to ease the effects of the Veritaserum and allow Harry's body to begin normal recovery.  Perhaps even accelerate it.  He's no longer dying," Albus said gently, looking directly at Sirius.

"Will he be alright?" Sirius asked breathlessly.  Remus knew it could not possibly be so easy.

"Only time will tell.  But in a few days time, I believe Harry will be stable enough for his friends to begin visiting him," Albus said with the faintest curl of an encouraging smile.

"Now would be a good time for you to come with me to the Ministry and get your name cleared once and for all, Sirius," Arthur said.  Sirius froze and blinked owlishly a couple of times.  

"They found Peter's body.  Arthur wants your testimony under Veritaserum.  It's all he needs to process your release papers," Remus said quietly into Sirius' ear.  

"It's not that I don't trust you, Arthur…" Sirius said with a frown.  Arthur raised a hand.

"I absolutely agree.  You'd be accompanied by myself, Bill, Charlie, Mad Eye, Minerva, and Filius.  I've also created a Portkey for you," Arthur said and handed Sirius a chocolate frog.  Sirius frowned at the frog for a moment.

"Messy," he stated.  

"Hopefully not," Arthur replied, understanding Sirius wasn't truly talking about the candy melting.

"I'm not leaving him," Sirius decided.  

"Wouldn't you rather have your name cleared before he wakes?  Think how anxious he'll be while you're gone giving testimony," Remus said.  Sirius swallowed, his eyes lighting from Dumbledore to Arthur and back to Remus.  He'd used the best tool he could to waver Sirius' resolve.  

"He's not waking up anytime soon, is he?" Arthur asked Pomfrey.  She shook her head confidently.  

"No, certainly not.  I hate to be the one to remind you, but there are no guarantees Mr. Potter *will* wake up," Pomfrey said regretfully.  It was as if she'd sucked the air out of the room.  

"Well then," Sirius said in a strained voice, "Perhaps this will give him an incentive."  Sirius stood decisively.  Remus went to stand as well, but Sirius placed a hand on his arm.  "No, Remus.  You're in to condition to travel anywhere."  Remus struggled to remain calm.  

"I'd feel better if I was there," he said, frustrated with how his voice quivered.  _It's my health.  Really.  How could he explain the sudden wave of panic that threatened to overwhelm him at the thought of Sirius' testimony going wrong? _

"I would, too.  But I'll be okay.  And even if I'm not…  Maybe they'll throw me in the same cell they're holding Fudge," Sirius said with manic glee, his face snarling tightly.  Remus shivered.  

"Okay.  I'm convinced you can take care of yourself.  Besides, you've got your wand back.  Just be careful, and don't do anything foolish," Remus said with emphasis, forcing his tone to be light, although he knew he nearly laughed desperately at the expressions on each of the Weasleys' faces.  There was a reason people had feared Sirius.  They still should.  

"I won't, mum.  Honest," Sirius said lightly as, just like that, the moment passed.  Whereas he'd been considered mercurial before, the ex-convict redefined it now.  

Sirius crossed towards the privacy screens, pausing at Harry's bed to whisper something in his ear before straightening to leave.  "Shall we?" he asked with quiet dignity.  Arthur nodded and stood.  

"Are we done?" the current Minister of Magic asked Albus politely.  Dumbledore nodded and made a weak shooing motion with his hand.

"Your public awaits you," he replied wryly.  Arthur grimaced.  Percy slipped to the other side of the door, carefully keeping his father between himself and Sirius.  Remus decided that was a smart idea.  

"Headmaster," Bill said politely, and stood as well.  "Remus," he nodded to Remus.  

"Good luck," Remus called, reluctant to see Sirius go.  

"Yes...  Wouldn't that be something?" Sirius agreed, his tone ironic to such depths that Remus was too stunned to say anything else as his friend left the Hospital Wing to try to regain the freedom he'd lost so many years ago.  Remus swallowed the lump in his throat, terrified for Sirius, and realized he hadn't felt a thing at the news of Peter's death.

**TBC…………….**


	39. Home

**Disclaimer:  **Still not mine.  ****

**Author's Note:  **Down at the bottom.  Don't peek!  Oh, and don't forget the two epilogues still coming!

**Chapter 39**

…

...

**…  anise, antiscorbutic codder, bismuth, ambergris, lung sien hiang, Halcyon eggs, zedoary, lesser galangale…  Potter?...**

...

…

**… red savina, eye of Caladrius, rue, yarrow, valerian root, jimson weed, bunyip scales, Squonk tears, nettle seeds…  Potter.  You're listening.  I can feel it.  Intriguing.  Can you hear anything else?  They're speaking to you.  It's only polite to listen…**

…

…

"…his books!  Why would hearing his homework read to him make him want to wake up?..."

…

…

"…better.  His color is improving.  Are his blankets charmed?  Look at him.  I think he's cold."

"Of course they're charmed.  He's fine.  Madam Pomfrey is taking good care of…"

…

…

**… collyflower petals…  Ah.  Welcome back.  They're talking to you.  Actually, incessant babble is more like it.  Would you please tell them to…**

…

…

"… hear me.  He's not conscious, but he's beginning to have awareness."

"I think it's time you began to give your own body the chance to heal, Severus."

"While I appreciate the sentiment, he's far from recovered."

"I know.  Perhaps if you spent the nights here, but left your days free to catch up on the projected syllabus for this year."

"I already have it."

"You do?"

"It's been a bit boring, Albus."

"Ah.  Something Harry has yearned for for quite a while…"

…

…

"…shhh!  You'll wake them up!"

"I am 'shh'ing!  Harry?  It's me.  We brought you some things we thought you'd like."

"And we've been tormenting Percy for you."

"Fred!  Dad told you to stop."  

"Forget it.  I can't figure out why you aren't as mad at him as I am.  You're the one he…"

…

…

"… father.  You're so much like him in so many ways.  Why do you have to be so damn noble? You…"

…

…

"…listening, Harry.  Snape told us you can hear us sometimes.  You've got to wake up.  Sirius is back.  It took longer than dad thought, but…"

…

…

"…missed you.  How are you feeling?  You're looking better.  A lot better.  Not that that's saying much.  Great, give him a complex...  You're looking good.  Really.  Especially compared to…"

…

…

"… slept long enough.  It's time to wake up.  You're healing remarkably well, but you'll heal better when you're able to talk to us and tell us how you're feeling.  Just think.  Are you hungry?  Think how nice a cup of hot chocolate would…"

…

…

"… see the Mark is gone.  There's no sign of it."

"But the others still have theirs, albeit quite faded.  What do you think happened to yours?"

"I think Potter's spell hit me as well.  We're lucky it didn't use me as a conduit."

"It's a shame the scars you made are so deep.  One would never know you'd carried it at all."

"That would miss the point entirely."

…

…

"… promised you that you'd never have to go back, and I've kept my word.  You have a home, now, Harry.  Well, not technically yet, but as soon as you wake up I'll find…"

…

...  

He drifted, deep within a sea.  It was warm and quiet.  His limbs felt weightless.  Nothing hurt.  He'd been here for a very long time.  He could feel it.  Every once and a while, noise drifted through.  _Words.  Words?  What words?  Whose words?  He didn't really care.  But it was nice; the noise.  Soothing.  Vibrations ran through his head and echoed pleasantly.  The silence was beautiful.  He hadn't heard words before.  He'd heard screams.  He pulled back into himself.  The silence was better.  He didn't want to risk hearing more screams…_

…

…

He was warm.  Comfortable.  He floated, bobbing lazily on a dark ocean.  He felt good.  Better.  Much better than he had in a long time.  The faintest buzzing filled his ears, but it was nice.  Like the sound of gentle waves lapping onto a sandy shore.  He'd been here before…  Heard those waves.  _No_.  The only ocean he'd ever seen had been on the way to…  He withdrew, not caring how pleasant the buzzing sounded.  He didn't belong here…

…

…

Voices.  He was hearing voices, and they sounded nice.  Caring.  Kind.  Not at all like the Dursleys.  But they wanted him to wake up, too.  _To do chores?  He didn't think so.  It was too early for chores.  The bed felt nice.  That was odd.  The mattress on Privet Drive was lumpy and hard.  __Okay.  This was good.  He wasn't at Privet Drive then.  It felt cozy here, and the voices were too gentle to hurt him.  He let them lull him back to sleep.  They didn't sound like they'd mind if he slept in a bit, and he was so tired…_

…

…

He was like a bubble, rising to the surface.  He didn't bother trying to fight it anymore.  It felt like flying.  It felt like freedom.  He let it carry him further up, and if he used his imagination, he could even feel the wind whipping through his hair as he tumbled topsy-turvy ever upward.  

…

…

The darkness dimmed, and he shut his eyes against the glow beyond his lids.  Had they been open?  _Too bright.  Voices burbled and danced around him.  Were they bubbles too?  They sounded familiar.  If he tried real hard, maybe he could understand what they said.  But maybe he'd save that for later.  He was still so sleepy.  He must have stayed up late.  He drifted, just near the surface.  Light glittered, refracted and reflected around him, but it no longer hurt his eyes. The voices washed over and surrounded him.  They sounded familiar…_

…

…

It always seemed as if sound were the first thing to come back to him.  _Always?__  Conversations drifted just beyond his bed, but he didn't mind the noise.  He didn't know why he recognized the voices, but he did.  They made him want to smile.  Instead his finger twitched.  That wasn't quite what he'd been aiming for, but he didn't mind that either._

"His finger moved!"

"What?"

"His hand.  I had his hand in mine, and I could have sworn it moved!"

"Are you sure?  Harry?  Harry, can you hear me?  Did you just move your hand?"

Whoever they were, they were pushy.  Harry let the words echo in his head, not really processing their meaning, just the tone.  They sounded awfully anxious.  

"Harry?  Wake up.  You're at Hogwarts.  You're safe.  Fudge is…"

"Don't tell him that!!"

"What?  It's good news!"

"Sirius, I swear I'll hex you…"

_Sirius_.  Harry let the name roll around for a little while.  It sounded familiar.  Nice.  He liked that name.  He thought he'd try to say it himself and see how it sounded.  Instead his hand jerked.  Close enough.

"You had to have seen that."

"Merlin.  Harry, you're doing it.  You're waking up.  Poppy!"  

"Remus, go get her!"

"Harry?  You're doing great.  I'll be right back."

"Open your eyes, Harry.  Can you do that?  I forgot what color they are, you see, so you'd be doing me the greatest favor," the voice said, and Harry realized that although the voice sounded happy, it also sounded as if it were crying, too.  Harry tried to concentrate.  If he tried to make his hand move, would he open his eyes?  Things seemed to be working backwards.  He swallowed.  _Closer.  _

"That's it, Harry.  Are you thirsty?  I'm sure you must be.  You've had nothing but potions for weeks.  That's got to be disgusting.  I've got some ice cold water here.  Come on.  Open your eyes, Harry.  Wake up."

Harry tried to open his eyes, but it didn't quite work.  Instead, he felt his hand lift and get squeezed tightly.  He didn't think he'd been the one to lift it, but one never knew.

"Squeeze my hand, Harry.  Keep going.  You're doing great," the voice said intently, and a face popped into his mind's eye.  A wild man with black hair and blazing blue eyes.  

"Sirius," Harry tried to rasp out.  He coughed a little instead.  

"Harry!  That's it.  Merlin, you're doing it.  I love you, Harry.  Gods, I've missed you," Sirius said, and Harry felt his world go topsy-turvy for real as Sirius scooped him up in his arms and held him close.  Harry tried to open his eyes, but didn't quite succeed; blinking a few times before deciding closed was better.   _Too bright.  He recognized this place.  _

"Put him down!  Sirius, let me examine him!" a woman's voice said sternly, but she sounded out of breath, as if she'd been running.  Harry's world stabilized once more as he was placed back on the bed.  He swallowed again, wondering where that water was he'd been promised.  

There was silence except for the sounds of more footsteps running towards him.  Harry was rather relieved it had gotten quiet.  One voice was plenty.  

"He's awake.  He isn't quite here yet, and he's very weak but he is awake.  Well done, Mr. Potter.  We've been quite worried about you," the woman's voice said warmly, and he jerked in surprise at the feeling of lips kissing his forehead.  

"I'm sure you're sleepy, Harry.  Get some rest.  We'll be here when you wake," the woman's voice - _Madam Pomfrey_ - promised, and Harry let Sirius' indignant protests drift away into a peaceful lullaby.  He *was* sleepy, after all.  He squeezed once more the hand he now knew to be Sirius', reassuring him, and sighed.  

…

…

…

…

White everywhere.  Harry groaned as he blinked his watering eyes repeatedly.  What had he done this time?  He could barely remember Quidditch, so that couldn't be it.  

"Harry?" a pale blob appeared in his limited field of vision.  Harry tried to reach for his glasses, but found he could barely lift his arm.  The blob smiled brightly, looking young and cheerful.  

"Looking for these?" Sirius' voice asked and proceeded to try to place Harry's glasses on his face.  He didn't quite succeed, but it wasn't like Harry was going to drop them any time soon.  Not when he couldn't move properly.  

"Harry, how do you feel?" Remus voice asked from beside him.  Harry wearily rolled his head, blinking.  His former professor looked exhausted but disgustingly cheerful as well.  Harry closed his eyes for a moment, and realized he was trembling.  He wasn't cold, so why was his body shaking?  He opened his eyes and frowned, looking at Sirius.

"Can't stop…  shaking," Harry croaked.  It had taken up nearly all his energy to say three words.  Whatever he'd done to himself, it must have been bad.  He closed his eyes and felt a warm hand on his forehead, pushing his hair off his face.  

"It's okay, Harry.  You're doing a lot better than you were.  Madam Pomfrey thinks you have a good chance of possibly making  a complete recovery.  It's just going to take some time…" Sirius' warm voice said.  Harry tried to let his godfather's reassuring words comfort him, but there was something he couldn't quite remember.  Something important.  He yawned, blinking once more before settling back into the pillows.  If it was really important, he'd remember it eventually.

…

…

…

…

"Ghost?  Can you hear me?" a little girl's voice invaded his dreams.  Harry opened his eyes and found himself peering into a familiar face.  _Anne_, his mind supplied.  _Anne…  Harry gasped as memories of *how* he knew this little girl overwhelmed him.  He hadn't been hurt at Quidditch, or even at Hogwarts.  He had to bite his lip to keep the whimpers silent as weeks of time he'd tried to forget came cascading back to him.  __I don't want to remember.  Please don't make me remember…_

Harry was jostled roughly as Anne jumped up on the bed and settled herself next to him, nose to nose.  He tried to blink back the tears, but it wasn't working.

"Are you crying, Ghost?" she asked.  _No_, he wanted to say, but that was a lie.  He nodded, chest heaving with sobs he refused to let out.  

"Aren't you feeling better?" she asked.  Well, that was certainly true.  He nodded again.  

"I've been bugging my aunt forever to let me see you.  I wanted you to be the first to hear what I want to be when I grow up!" she said with a bright smile.  Harry felt silly for the tears still streaming down his face, annoyed at his own lack of control.  He forced his lips into a tremulous smile.  

"What?" he whispered.  

"I want to be an Auror!" she announced happily.  Harry flinched, but thankfully he was already shaking, so Anne didn't notice.  

"Why?" he asked softly.  

"So next time I can rescue you," she said solemnly, and abruptly kissed his nose.  She reached out and took his hand in both of hers.  She was so small that both of her hands barely fit around his palm.  _So young.  She'd lost her parents so early…_

"They say you're here because of bad dreams," she stated authoritatively.  Harry felt his eyebrows rise.  Yes, that was a fair analogy.  She nodded, as if she'd been waiting to hear *his* side of the story, then abruptly hopped off the bed.  

She scampered out of sight for a second, and came bounding back.  She leaped onto the bed, brown hair flying everywhere, and crawled back up to sit beside him.  The sudden jostling made him queasy, but he stayed really still and thankfully the moment passed.

"I brought Herbert for you," she said, and proceeded to place a rather large lizard on Harry's chest.  The reptile's claws wrapped around his nightshirt tightly, and Harry found himself eye to eye with the creature.  

"Your pet?" Harry rasped.  He was frustrated at having to speak in shorthand in order to communicate at all.  Anne nodded.  

"He looks scary, but he isn't.  See, he's a chameleon.  He changes colors.  You should have seen him on your grandfather's robes!" she said excitedly.  _Grandfather?_

"I met your family.  They're really nice," she chattered on.  _My family?_"They say your dreams hurt you, but I feel bad, because you dreamed of me," her eyes welled up with tears as she said this.  Harry shook his head anxiously.  _Please don't cry._

"No," he protested and tried to reach his hand out to her.  It flopped instead, but Anne seemed to understand what he was trying to do.  She grabbed his fingers tightly, and Harry realized she felt ridiculously hot.  Or was he chilled?  "You were a good dream," he said intently, and knew the smile was small but genuine.  She grinned happily, clearly relieved.  

"Well, I haven't finished school yet, so I can't watch over you properly, but Herbert can.  He needs lots of sun, fresh air, and bugs.  See how his eyes move?  It's neat, isn't it?" Anne chattered excitedly.  The chameleon's eyes had rotated around to stare at Anne, even though his body was still facing Harry.  It was actually rather unnerving.  

"See?  You need lots of sun and fresh air, too.  But not bugs.  You're too skinny, so you'd have to eat *way* too many bugs.  But every time you feed Herbert, you've got to eat, too, okay?  He likes to watch things, and he listens really well.  I think he likes you!" she announced.  Harry was feeling overwhelmed at the moment as he stared at the chameleon on his chest.  

"Anne?  Did you sneak in here?" a woman's voice he didn't recognize called softly from the door.  Anne hunkered down next to Harry as if trying not to be noticed.

"I think Mr. Potter needs his rest, Anne," Madam Pomfrey scolded gently from the other side of the room.  

"But he woke up, and I really needed to talk to him!" Anne protested, her lower lip protruding so far Harry knew it had to have been a fake pout.

"It was really nice of you to see him, but Harry is still very ill."  Madame Pomfrey said as she began to wave her wand over Harry, probably reading his vitals.  Anne sighed dramatically and was nose to nose with Harry again.  She was giving him an acute case of vertigo.

"Herbert will scare the bad dreams away.  And he doesn't mind being squished," she said seriously.  _Poor Herbert.  Harry sent a silent promise not to squish the poor thing.  An eye rotated back his way and he felt the urge to giggle.  _

"You sure?" Harry rasped.  He didn't like the idea of Anne giving away her pet.  

"My aunt doesn't like Herbert.  She promised me a kitty," she admitted and began to scoot off the bed.  

"Her loss," Harry said solemnly.  Anne smiled brilliantly.  

"Yes, I think so!  I'll try to come back later, okay?" she asked, eyes flashing a brief moment of insecurity as she waited for his answer.  

"I'd like that," Harry said.  A full sentence.  _Progress.  _

"Bye, Ghost!" she called and quick as a flash she was at the door.  Harry was exhausted just watching her.  His eyes closed wearily and the strange lizard on his chest appeared to settle in.  He dreamt of buoyant little girls rescuing him from burning buildings and chameleons taking swan dives into giant vats of hot chocolate.  It was the nicest dream he'd had in years.

…

…

…

"You have a growth on your chest," Sirius' dry voice invaded his dreams.  That was okay, though.  Things had begun to turn bad.  A gaping pit had opened up at his feet, and he couldn't see the bottom of it.  Everywhere he tried to step, it appeared.

"That's Herbert," Harry said.  He wanted to joke, to tease him, but two words were all he could muster the strength for at the moment.  

"Herbert is firmly attached to your nightshirt," Sirius observed.  Harry opened his eyes and smiled wearily at his godfather.  Sirius was currently trying to lift said lizard, but it wasn't budging from the death grip it had on Harry's buttons.  "Anne's aunt has left you *****ample* equipment to keep Herbert happy."  

Not everyone appreciated a pet who could look two different directions at once, Harry wanted to say.  "Her loss," he summarized breathlessly instead.  

"How are you feeling?" Sirius asked, finally giving up and allowing Herbert to remain where he was.  Sirius settled next to Harry on the bed and peered intently into his eyes.  "Are you comfortable?" he asked.  Harry tried to shrug.  

"How long?" Harry asked.  He never stayed awake long enough to ask all the pertinent questions.  

"You were unconscious for two and a half weeks.  You've been drifting for four days now.  I think today's your best yet," he commented.  

"Voldemort?" Harry rasped.

"It looked like your curse finished him, Harry," Sirius said, then hesitated just the barest second.  If it weren't for the fact that Harry had been looking for it; that bit of bad news that was as inevitable as the changing of the seasons; he might have missed it entirely.  Instead, Harry felt dread rise up in his throat.  Sirius' sentence wasn't quite finished.  _No, no, no_…

"But?" Harry choked.  

"Harry, Dumbledore wasn't positive he is actually *dead*," Sirius said regretfully, placing a hand against Harry's forehead as if to try to sooth away the lines of rigid tension and leaning forward anxiously.  

"No," Harry protested, his voice breaking.  That was the point of the Killing Curse.  He'd thought he was done.  He thought it was over.  He had never expected to live anyway.  _He'll come back.  He did before.  _Harry desperately didn't want to have to do this again and felt tremors overtake him as overwhelming despair sank in.  _Please.  No.  Don't make me have to do this again.  I can't.  Why couldn't I have died?_  

"Harry?!  Harry!  Harry, listen to me!" Sirius nearly yelled and pulled Harry up so he was just inches away from Sirius' face.  Harry's body felt like it was about to rattle apart and he couldn't stop the desperate sobs that choked him violently.  _I was done._

"Harry, listen to me!  You broke Voldemort's hold on this world.  Just because we're not *sure* if he was killed doesn't mean he will ever come back," Sirius said fiercely, his grip painful as he tried to break through Harry's rising hysteria.  Sirius *seemed* to believe what he was saying...  Harry tried to take deep breaths but failed.  Instead, he gasped in frustration, shaking so badly he could barely focus on Sirius' face.    

"Shh…  You've done it, Harry.  Shh...  It's okay.  Come on.  Calm down," Sirius said and pulled Harry into a hug and rocked him back and forth, murmuring reassuring words into his hair.  He rubbed Harry's back soothingly as he waited for Harry to calm.  An idle part of Harry's brain realized gratefully that Herbert was indeed squishy. 

Sirius' stubble scratched against Harry's ear as he held him close, and Harry's arms weakly wrapped around Sirius as well.  His godfather still smelled of peppermint and aftershave, and felt far too bony against Harry's cheek.  

Nonetheless, Harry's breathing began to ease as an exhausted sort of numbness crept in.  Vaguely he remembered watching Ron squirm as Mrs. Weasley fussed over him, and just *knew* that he could never tire of such things.  

"I understand, Harry.  It's okay.  I've got you.  You're not going anywhere.  You're safe.  That's right.  Keep breathing," Sirius murmured against Harry's hair, his own breath warm and smelling of pumpkin juice.  

It took a while for the trembling to ease, and by then he was drifting back to sleep.  Harry let his arms fall limply from Sirius' shoulders and sighed as his godfather continued to rub his back, speaking soothingly.  

He dreamt of a man throwing a baby high up in the air, then catching him and swinging him around dizzily.  

"Do you want to learn how to fly?" the voice asked, clearly not expecting an answer.  

"Yes," Harry replied, and Sirius nodded.  

"It's easy.  You just close your eyes and jump."

…

…

…

…

"Remus, he's waking up!"

"Is he?"

"Of course he is.  I'm the expert.  Get over here," Sirius demanded.  Harry cracked open one eye.  While he loved having his godfather there, his dreams were beginning to take darker turns now, and it took longer for Harry to collect himself when he woke.  A little privacy would have been appreciated.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Remus muttered, not sounding inconvenienced at all.  

Harry stretched shakily and yawned widely.  Reaching over for his glasses automatically, he was shocked to see Sirius dressed up in fine black robes, obviously new.  His godfather's hair was pulled back in a black ribbon, and Harry thought he looked rather like he imagined a pirate would.  Sirius was standing beside him with both hands behind his back, smiling toothily.  Definitely piratical.  

"Yes?" Harry asked with a faint smile after yawning again.  This was a side he didn't see nearly enough of Sirius.

"Pick a hand," Sirius instructed as Remus came to stand beside him.  Harry liked this game, although he'd only played it once with Ron.  He frowned.  Remus' face, as always, was inscrutable.  

"The left one," Harry decided.  Sirius beamed.  

"Good choice!  Excellent choice!" he pronounced dramatically and produced a scroll from behind his back.  Harry automatically reached out to read it.  

"No need, my dear fellow.  Allow me," Sirius said theatrically, and cleared his throat as if to make a proclamation.  

"Ruling on the eighth day of the Term of Arthur Weasley as Minister of Magic, the Ministry has found that the due process rights of Sirius Black have been violated and acknowledges that additional eyewitness testimony and the recent appearance of Peter Pettigrew's corpse on the shores of Azkaban show that Sirius Black's testimony under Veritaserum would have proved his innocence." Shocked tears welled up in Harry's eyes that he struggled to blink back but failed.  

"Tell me you're not joking," Harry rasped breathlessly into the sudden silence.  He'd found he could barely breathe.  Sirius continued.

"Both committee and private investigations have found: numerous witnesses willing to sign affidavits with respect to Black's innocence; several witnesses who have since recanted their testimonies used to convict Black… (I'll tell you later, Harry.  A couple of Muggles *did* see a rat scamper away)…; witnesses who have since identified the actual killer; and evidence disclosing the motive for the killing."

Harry was too stunned to do anything else but listen.

"This evidence clearly vindicates Black of the murder of James and Lily Potter.  Section § 1495 & § 2513 of the Unjust Conviction and Imprisonment Act has been enacted to provide redress to Sirius Black who has been proven by clear and convincing evidence that he was unjustly convicted and imprisoned (Section § 8-b[1])."

"You're…" Harry began to ask.  Remus raised his hand, gesturing to allow Sirius to finish.    

"For the sake of this hearing, a summary of the Act states, in pertinent part, that this claimant is eligible to seek relief under this statute and as such, we hereby immediately relinquish hold of the Black estate and all other assets, with the promise for Sirius Black to be recompensed in an as yet undisclosed amount..."  Sirius' eyes danced as he allowed the sentence to trail off.

"You're free?" Harry whispered, afraid saying it out loud would make it not true.

"And I'm sodden rich," Sirius agreed.

"Oh, he's not done.  Read the last part, Sirius," Remus urged.  Sirius cleared his throat, his voice suddenly not as sure as it had been before.

"There is tremendous concern about the way in which matters were handled at the time of Sirius Black's arrest and subsequent imprisonment. The lack of trial was a gross miscarriage of justice which will forever by this Ministry be deeply regretted."

No one said anything for long moments.  Harry reached out his hand, and Sirius reverently placed the Ministry scroll within it.  

Harry looked up at his godfather and said gently, "You're free."

"I'm free," Sirius agreed.  

Harry's heart pounded wildly in his chest as he tried to believe the words he'd just heard.  Unshed tears were making it hard for Harry to focus on all the details of Sirius' face.  He wanted to freeze this moment in time, preserve it carefully, to pull out when the dreams got too bad or he was frustrated with being an invalid.  _This is worth it_.  Sirius would always be worth it.  

When Harry was finally able to keep his own voice from breaking, he asked shakily, "What was in the other hand?"  Sirius laughed, the sound shockingly loud in the infirmary.

"Oh, that!  Just papers saying I've been awarded full legal custody of you until you come of age," Sirius casually said, waving a scroll he'd been holding behind his back dismissively.  

Harry threw the scroll at him in frustration as he began to laugh and cry simultaneously.  Sirius sat on the bed and pulled Harry close.  It didn't take long before Harry had properly slimed Sirius' robes, but he didn't care.  His godfather was free, and he finally had a home.  

…

…

…

"You realize you're going to have to talk about this eventually," Sirius' voice said directly beside Harry's ear.  Sirius had his chin resting on his hands and his forearms flat on the bed, bringing him eye to eye with Harry.

"No I don't," Harry said stubbornly.  So Sirius had noticed his nightmares.  He would much rather not think about his dreams at all.  

"Okay," Sirius replied.  Harry frowned suspiciously at his godfather.  Sirius raised both hands in the air innocently.  "What?"

"Too easy," Harry rasped.  

"I said it would be okay.  You're just going to have **two** bedmates instead of one," Sirius stated.  

"Two?" Harry asked.

"Snuffles and Herbert," he said.  Harry shook his head.  

"Poppy says today is the day you start on solid food," Sirius said, changing the subject and effectively closing the topic for discussion.  

Harry was torn between his desire for comfort when he woke up ready to scream, and the need to retain at least some semblance of dignity.  He hated that he alternately seemed to feel ready to laugh or cry almost all the time, and his perpetual fatigue did nothing to help things.    

"Do I get to pick what to eat?" Harry asked.  Sirius nodded.  

"Within reason, though."  

"Am I going to get better?" Harry asked.  Sirius' expression darkened, but considering his face hadn't turned completely blank, Harry felt it was a good sign.  He drifted so often still, and by the time polite conversation had the chance to turn to something deeper, he would fall asleep.  It kept him anxiously unsettled as days passed and the Hogwarts year progressed.  

"You already are.  Haven't you noticed?" Sirius asked.  Harry shook his head.  

"You're staying awake longer, and the shaking has diminished quite a bit.  Madam Pomfrey is impressed, and while she would wish your recovery to speed up a bit, you're still doing remarkably well," Sirius said truthfully.  

"What am I going to do about Hogwarts?" Harry asked.  

"It will be quite a while before you enter the Hogwarts mainstream again," Dumbledore's voice said regretfully as he entered the room.  Sirius jumped, startled.  Harry tried to figure out why he'd sensed the Headmaster's presence moments before he arrived.

"Will I be held behind?" Harry asked, amazed at the Headmaster's timing, as ever.  What did he do, peek around corners and eavesdrop on conversations waiting for *just* the right moment to intervene?  Harry had long ago stopped believing in coincidences.

"You won't be staying here at Hogwarts for much longer," Dumbledore replied.  Harry closed his eyes wearily.  He knew the price for Voldemort's incapacitation had not yet been completely paid.  It never would be.  *He* would never be free.  

"You'll be staying with us," Remus' voice called from the doorway.  Harry craned his neck to see his former professor.  Remus had disappeared for the last couple of days, and Sirius had refused to answer Harry's questions as to where he was, saying only that he was feeling fine.  

"Remus here has been house hunting," Sirius said with a mischievous smile.  "I take it you've found something appropriately suitable for the hero of the Wizarding world?"  Harry cringed at the title.  

"And nearby *and* properly warded.  The press is starting to get creative," Remus said dryly.  

"And Hogwarts?" Harry prompted.  He couldn't help the rising fear of losing Ron and Hermione simply because he no longer had any of the same classes or things in common with them anymore.  They'd move on and forget about him, his mind kept promising.

He stopped trying to explain to his friends that he didn't care if they brought him into their conversations.  He hated how awkward they seemed as they repeatedly tried to draw him out during talks.  He preferred to listen to them banter and joke.  Not like he wasn't in the room with them, but the way they used to, before things had gone so badly.  Just being with them made him feel comfortable, and not quite so unstrung.  The same went for Sirius and Remus.  

Harry knew in his heart he couldn't handle Hogwarts emotionally, even if he could physically.  But knowing didn't mean he wasn't furiously bitter to be left behind, a shaking shambling mess.  Abruptly, Harry wondered how much of what he'd been thinking showed on his face, for Dumbledore was watching him somberly.  

"In a month or so, you'll begin being tutored in all your respective classes," Dumbledore said gently.  Harry flinched.  "This is not an inconvenience or a burden, Harry.  In fact, some of your fellow classmates have begun to excel in subjects they'd always performed mediocre in previously, just for the chance to participate in these tutorials."  

"Ron," Harry smiled softly.  

"And this was *before* being promised extra credit," Dumbledore stated with a nod.  

"But what about Potions?" Harry asked.  A Hogwarts education was largely hands on.  Care of Magical Creatures.  Defense Against the Dark Arts.  _Well, I should get extra credit in *that* class at least_.

"Professor Snape, as well as all the other Hogwarts professors, have consented to test you privately, and will continue to provide the bulk of the lectures.  With the proper study plans you will be able to keep up.  We'll see to this, Harry.  You have my word," Dumbledore said solemnly.  

Harry closed his eyes for a moment and heaved a sigh.  It was better than he feared, but he still hated being like this.  He couldn't even stand.  How long before he was a burden to Sirius and Remus…?  

"Stop it!" Sirius snapped, making Harry jump.  His godfather scowled and leaned in close, pointing at Harry's nose scoldingly.  "You may be more mysterious than Remus here…"

"I beg your pardon," Remus said indignantly.  Sirius ignored him.

"…but I'm starting to figure you out.  Merlin, Harry, where on earth do you find the strength to carry all that guilt?!"  Harry blinked.  Dumbledore's eyebrows raised.  

"Let me assure you, you will not be a burden.  You've been sick, and you're getting better.  It just takes time.  I know you'd rather it be a day or two, but trust me when I tell you that no matter how bad the injuries, you will get better," Remus agreed quietly, and Harry found he couldn't argue with him.  

"Besides, you seem to think our relationship is one sided.  Do you think Moony and I don't enjoy your company?" Sirius asked.

"You're smart, you're clever, you're sensitive…" Remus began, ticking off points on his fingertips.

"You're too damn noble for your own good," Sirius interrupted.

"…you've got the most amazing knack for getting into things, and trust me when I tell you that's a fine Marauder trait to have," Remus continued, nodding approvingly.

"Let me spell it out for you, Harry," Sirius said earnestly.  "You have a family.  Remus and I.  Arthur and Molly.  Ron and Hermione."  

Dumbledore rested a hand on Harry's shoulder.  "Myself.  Even Severus has a place for you in his heart," he said.  

Harry couldn't suppress a smile.  He hadn't been hurt that Snape hadn't visited.  It would have been bizarre if he had.  No words were needed between them anymore.  The Potions Master could be as snarky as he wanted, but Harry knew Snape's secret.

At night, the Potions Master still fed Harry additional strength to speed his healing from the link they had yet to sever.  Snape thought Harry wouldn't notice.  It was odd to realize that Harry's way of showing Snape he cared was to not say anything about it.

"You're going home, Harry, to a real home.  You're going to have a room of your own, and a field behind the house where you can practice Quidditch.  You get two doting bachelors at your beck and call…" Sirius said.

"Who says I'm a bachelor?" Remus asked indignantly.  Sirius raised an eyebrow.  "Never mind.  Go on," he instructed.  

"And Molly Weasley twice a week to hover and stuff you full of food," Sirius continued.  "You've got your fellow students coming to visit and tutor you…"

"At least Hermione will make sure you're actually learning," Remus approved.

"…and an in-house professor just *waiting* to stuff you full of knowledge."

"I would have chosen different imagery," Remus objected.  

Harry blinked.  He knew he was smiling, and felt something deep within him unlock a little, as if a little bit of tension had been released from a spring.  It was true.  He had a home.  Harry let the thoughts drift in his head for a moment and looked around him expectantly.  He held his breath.  Sirius and Remus frowned at him.

"Yes?" Sirius prompted.  

"There's no bad news?" Harry asked suspiciously.  Remus sighed in faint exasperation and smiled gently.

"No bad news.  Well, yes, there's the usual:  The press is dying for an interview and going to great lengths to invade Hogwarts.  There are still rabid Death Eaters out there who'd love to take you out…  But how is that different from any other day?"  Remus asked philosophically.  Harry let out his breath.

"When do we leave?"  Harry asked his godfather.

"After dinner," Dumbledore said.  "Madame Pomfrey will check on you daily at first, then as you get better her visits will decrease.  I'm sending Dobby with you to insure proper nutrition…" 

"I'm a good cook!" Sirius protested.  

"*cough* *No you're not* *cough*," Remus choked. 

"Better than you," Sirius said.  

"We'll let Harry decide that," Remus said with confidence, and turned to Harry, who'd begun to drift off to sleep yet *again*.  

"See, you bored him!" was the last thing Harry heard until a warm furry body nestled next to his and began to snore.

…

…

…

"I feel like an Eskimo," Harry protested.  They had him bundled up in so many blankets that his face barely peeked out.  

"You look like one," Sirius agreed.  

"I could try to walk," Harry protested lamely as Sirius carried him in his arms.  

"I won't dignify that inane statement with a response," Remus said.  Harry squinted at him.  

"I don't want anyone to see me like this," Harry admitted.  

"They won't.  The halls are clear," Sirius said.  "You've got Herbert?" he asked Remus.  Remus patted his pocket in agreement.  

"And Hedwig?" Harry asked.

"Dobby brought her to the house last night," Sirius said.

"I'm still coming back, right?" Harry asked softly.  

"Don't you want to be with us?" Sirius asked, hurt.  Harry flinched.  

He didn't know how to express his fears that they'd tire of taking care of him, or that he would prove to be too much of a burden, without hurting their feelings.  Harry *would* understand.  He wanted to let them know up front, he'd still love them if they did.  

"Harry," Remus said intently, as he stood next to Sirius, the both of them looking down on him.  "Let me promise one thing right now: We're not going anywhere, and neither are you.  You're stuck with us.  You're not alone.  And now we're going home, where Dobby already has a warm fire going, and you're going to have a real room all your own.  I know words won't truly erase your fears, but try to let it go for now, okay?  Only time is going to prove us right, and we've got plenty." 

They all began to walk again, and far too quickly left the safety of Hogwarts for a carriage.  Harry stared around him, stunned.  

"It's fall," he breathed.  Sirius frowned but said nothing.  So much time had passed since he'd first left the Dursleys.  In Harry's mind it was still summer, even though he knew Hogwarts had been in session for a while.  The trees proved differently.  Leaves crunched under Sirius' and Remus' feet, and Harry could see his breath in the air.  A slight shiver ran up Harry's spine, and Sirius pulled him closer. 

"See, it *is* chilly out here," Sirius said softly.  Harry leaned his head against his godfather's chest.  

"I love fall.  It's beautiful," he said reverently.  It had been so long since he'd seen the moon…  Harry felt his jaw drop as he stared at Remus.  "It's a full moon," Harry whispered, shocked.  Remus smiled, and his face looked both old and young at once.  His eyes shone with an inner fire that Harry couldn't begin to comprehend.

"Yes, it is," he agreed.  

"Remus…" Harry whispered, not sure what else to say.  

"We're going home, Harry.  Say it once.  Just try the words on.  See how it feels," Remus gently teased.  

Harry laughed softly as they settled him into the carriage.  Sirius fussed and tucked every edge of the blanket around Harry until only his eyes and nose were visible.  He watched as the two men settled beside him, and took this moment to really *look* at both Remus and Sirius while the carriage abruptly lurched forward.  

They were quite the motley crew.  A former werewolf.  A pardoned convict.  An orphan misfit.  _Yes_, a place deep within him whispered.  _It's okay to hope_.  Harry smiled as he let his imagination speculate about what his room would look like.  _Home_.  He was finally going home.  

**The End**

**Author's Note:  **For all of you who've read this story, I cannot tell you properly how grateful I am for the input and support you've given me.  You've taken an insecure closet writer and nurtured her growth.  

You've taught me how to finish what I start, and that I can do whatever I set my sights to.  You've turned a private labor of love into a passion, and your reviews have kept me laughing and nodding thoughtfully for over a year now.  I promise to save your reviews and reread them often when I'm feeling insecure.  

I haven't read OotP yet.  I have two epilogues to do for this story before I set aside scroll and quill for a few days and indulge.  One thing I've definitely learned, though, is that so much can change in an instant when you're playing in someone else's sandbox.  Lesson learned.  The next fic will be set in my own universe.  

I won't say that I am never coming back to write more in this world.  I adore the Harry Potter universe, and writing in it feels like coming home.  So I may post more from time to time, but none of it will be nearly as large.   400 pages and 14 months are a bit much, don't you think? 8-)  

But I leave you with this parting thought:  It's been an honor to share this universe with you.  I've been just as addicted to your reviews and fics as I was to the original series, and your companionship has been a reassuring presence in a tumultuous time in my life.  Thank you.


	40. Dreams

**Disclaimer:  **And after all this time…  Harry Potter.  Still not mine.

**Author's Note:  **Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed!  My muse hid for several weeks, refusing to acknowledge that this was in fact the second to last chapter.  She's still in a state of denial, but I coaxed her out with promises of chocolate and tea.  Be gentle with her.  She's feeling a bit vulnerable *sniff*.  8-)  As always, please read and review!  Enjoy!

**Chapter 40**

Harry dreamt he was being rocked to sleep.  He was cold and exhausted and the voice that whispered his lullaby seemed oddly sibilant, but he nestled nonetheless within the folds of its robes, letting the breath carry him further and further away_.  Breath?_  

Harry frowned and opened his eyes.  The face before him was rotted with fleshy gristle, its jaws stretching wider and wider as it moved forward to Kiss him.  _A Dementor_.  Inside of its mouth, Harry could see Sirius' gaunt face, looking just as Harry had seen him that first time in the Shrieking Shack, peering out.  Sirius was reaching for him with grasping hands and desperately calling his name.  

Harry screamed in horror as he tried to reach inside the creature's mouth and pull his godfather free.  As he did so, a thousand voices echoed with his own, reverberating within his head to the point it felt as if his eardrums had shattered, deafening him as he frantically tried to save Sirius and avoid the promise of soulless peace.

"Merlin, Harry, wake up!" Sirius' rough voice broke through Harry's dream.  Harry shot up in bed, chest heaving and sweating as if he'd run a race.  Sirius grabbed his shoulders and pulled Harry close as he struggled to orient himself.

Not in Azkaban?  _Yes_.  Safe at home?  _Yes_.  Sirius is safe?  Harry let his arms snake around his godfather's waist as Sirius continued to hold Harry, muttering that he was safe, he was home, no one could harm him, and that it was just a dream.  _Yes_.  It was a checklist Harry had taken to using when he woke up from the nightmares.  It was a way to remind himself that things were getting better.

"We've got to find a way to give you a break from these dreams," Sirius growled in frustration as Harry began to relax.  As the initial adrenaline rush faded fatigue set in, causing Harry to yawn loudly.  

"What do you mean?" Harry asked sleepily as the last vestiges of the dream drifted away, bringing him back to the present and Sirius' tired, bleary face.  

"Your nightmares," Sirius pulled back and looked at Harry with a frown.  

"They've already got me back on the Dreamless Sleep potion every alternate Wednesday," Harry joked lightly.  

Truly, the schedule Snape had concocted for Harry's taking the sleeping potion was mind boggling in its randomness.  A large calendar on the wall of the kitchen showed what days he could take it and what days he couldn't.  Constant tests caused the schedule to magically update as Madam Pomfrey carried blood samples back and Snape revised the results.  

"It's not enough," Sirius stated in frustration.

"Of course it is," Harry scolded tiredly, blinking to moisten his dry eyes.  It felt like the inside of his lids were coated with sandpaper.  _Blegh_.

"You're exhausted.  Listen to me.  Here I am rambling on about your troubles, and you're nearly nodding off on me.  Sorry, Harry," Sirius rumbled as he pushed Harry back onto the pillows and pulled the blankets around him.  

"S'okay, Sirius.  It's not so bad…  Really," he tried to placate.  Sirius snorted.  

"Quit trying to reassure me.  *I* am the one supposed to be comforting *you* here," he objected.  

"You're doing fine," Harry mumbled encouragingly, letting his eyes close.  Sirius snorted again, and Harry opened one eye to peer at his godfather sternly.  "You don't get it, do you?  I don't *feel* the curses anymore.  I may still hear their cries, but I'm not *feeling* them die.  Not like I used to."  Sirius paled, and Harry wondered if he'd said too much.  

He never talked about the memories…  The people who died.  He still couldn't bear to.  It was too overwhelming.  He'd been oddly relieved when he first learned that Sirius and Remus had read his journal.  It allowed them to understand what he had faced each night without actually having to describe it.  Unfortunately, though, it also left them looking at him a bit lost, as if unsure what to say or do, afraid they'd end up hurting him rather than helping.  

"With the scream you let loose just now, you could have fooled me," Sirius scowled, breaking Harry's train of thought.  

"But Sirius, you don't understand…  When I wake up, I'm okay.  My friends are okay.  You and Remus are safe.  Yes, I hate to sleep, but there's no saying the nightmares won't eventually go away," Harry said, knowing full well they probably wouldn't.  But Sirius didn't have to know that.

"In the meantime, I do get *some* rest, since the Dreamless Potion is actually working for me, and if you'd quit badgering me, I'd probably fall back asleep right now," Harry lightly scolded, his voice warbling around a suppressed yawn.  

_It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live__1_, Headmaster Dumbledore once told him.  Harry had decided nearly a month ago that that statement applied just as much in these circumstances as it did then.  He hated the nightmares, but when he compared them to when Voldemort was alive, there simply *was* no comparison.  

"You're right.  Sorry, Harry," Sirius said contritely, and with a pop Snuffles was beside him, snuggling up and effectively pinning Harry's legs underneath the covers.  With effort, Harry turned on his side and let his arm drape over Snuffles' ribs, his hand burrowing within Sirius' fur.  The Animagus generated heat at an amazing rate, and as it seeped into Harry, he let himself relax.  His shivering slowly began to ease and he drifted back to sleep.  

He only had two more nightmares that night.  He woke up to find Snuffles sprawled across the majority of the bed, legs akimbo, snoring wetly.  Harry tried not to disturb his godfather as he scooted out from underneath the covers, his bladder dictating that it was indeed time to get up.  He was loath to disturb his godfather's sleep, for despite Sirius' protests, the fatigue weighed heavily on him.  

As he padded softly to the bathroom, though, he could hear Sirius stirring.  The tile floor had been charmed to remain warm at all times, so Harry had to resort to splashing cold water on his face to try to wake up.  Blinking a couple of times, Harry let the water wash into his dry eyes to soothe the constant burn of exhaustion.  After patting his face with a towel, Harry slipped on his glasses that he'd grabbed from the nightstand and inspected himself closely.  

"Sweet pea, you've got a long way to go, but you're sure looking better," the mirror informed Harry encouragingly.  

Harry smiled wearily in response.  He knew he still looked awful.  He was still flesh and bones, but at least his skin didn't have a yellowish tint to it anymore.  In fact, he was starting to get the faintest hint of a tan from all the afternoons in the sunroom.  

"Harry?" Sirius pounded on the door, causing Harry to leap into the air and yelp with surprise.

"Sirius, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" Harry exclaimed weakly, hand on his chest, before opening the door.

"Sorry.  How are you doing?" he asked, inspecting Harry closely.  

"I'm hungry.  How about you?" Harry asked and was rewarded by a big smile in response.  

Harry found he could only walk at a snail's pace.  It was nice at first when he had Remus to keep him company, as they both had walked at about the same rate, but Remus' recovery quickly surpassed his own, leaving Sirius as the more likely walking companion.  

Slow walks were simply not in his godfather's nature, Harry discovered.  He bounded, or prowled.  Sometimes he pounced.  Whatever he did, Sirius did it with enthusiasm.  He simply wasn't built for meandering.  Harry could practically see the tics and twitches in Sirius' body as he forced himself to shuffle forward, keeping pace with his godson.   It was actually quite fun for Harry to watch Sirius try to contain himself, to slow down and enjoy the scenery, so to speak.

"Look at it this way.  Perhaps I need to learn to slow down as much as you need to speed up," Sirius jokingly speculated one afternoon after Harry pointed out with amusement that Sirius was practically tap dancing in place, hopping from one foot to the other and making noises with his slippers on the tile as he shuffled alongside his godson.  

Harry enjoyed reminding him of that statement from time to time, when Sirius was practically shivering in his skin with poorly disguised restlessness.  Not that his godfather wasn't solicitous.  Harry found that Sirius' sharp eyes noted Harry's pain and discomfort far better than he would have preferred.  

Sirius was *very* perceptive to Harry's ever shifting moods, and intuitively seemed to know when Harry began to feel as if *this* were the dream and he was still really back in Azkaban.  That's when his godfather would show up with hot cocoa and blankets, swooping in to bundle Harry off to one of the sunrooms where he could read and absorb the sun.

Harry tired easily, and embarrassingly his muscles gave out long before his will did.  This insured that neither Remus nor Sirius let him walk unaccompanied for even short distances, and as yet he hadn't made it up more than five stairs unaided.  Of course, any walk in his new home was a major endeavor.

As they slowly traveled to the informal dining room that served well for most meals, Sirius cheerfully whistled a tune that sounded vaguely familiar, but was nothing Harry could put a name to.  It was going to be stuck in his head all day, he already knew.  The tune reverberated merrily through the wood paneled halls, and Harry suppressed the urge to shake his head in amazement as he marveled yet again at his new home.  

The 'house' Remus bought was more of a mansion than anything else.  Harry couldn't imagine a home needing more than one kitchen, but evidently this one did.  The main one had been commandeered by Dobby completely, and Remus had wryly reported that the house-elf appeared to be completely in his element.  At any time, one could walk in to find a feast ready to be served.  

The smaller kitchen had been converted into an impromptu casual dining area where everyone seemed to feel the most comfortable taking their meals, especially considering the 'formal' dining room could easily seat the entirety of the Weasley clan, plus all of the Gryffindors in Harry's year.  

The home had at least fifteen different bedrooms that Harry was aware of, each with their own bathroom.  It had several libraries and studies, and two basements, which Harry was puzzled by but had yet to ask about.  It had a greenhouse that Remus disappeared to for hours at a time, and multiple sitting and sunrooms.  One converted sunroom in particular contained an indoor pool that Harry spent a part of every afternoon in as part of Madam Pomfrey's physical rehabilitation plan.  Never unattended, of course.

Harry was also surprised at how innocent their home looked from the outside.  It was clearly enchanted because it didn't show its size at all.  Instead it looked more like a quaint little cottage, with a sloped wood shingle roof and charming shuttered windows that reflected the autumn sunsets perfectly, as he'd seen one of the few times he'd actually spent a little time outside.  It was nestled back into a woodsy area just a short distance from Hogsmeade, and if Harry were required to describe it with one word, it would be: _cozy_.  

Sighing, Harry let himself plop bonelessly into a dining chair as Remus and Sirius settled across from him.  Instantly, food began to appear.  Fruits and pastries, bangers and mash, bacon, pancakes, French toast, as well as oatmeal and a wide array of juices and teas all instantly materialized, smelling delicious.  Dobby spent a great deal of effort trying to appeal to Harry's taste buds, and although Harry still found he couldn't eat a great deal, the variety had definitely begun to whet his appetite.  

Harry's increased enthusiasm for food also spurred Dobby to insure that fresh plates of food and drinks were in every room Harry visited.  Sirius complained loudly about this as he ate up everything in sight and playfully threw food at Remus, forcing him to join in.  Harry enjoyed watching Remus grumble even as he managed to finish everything Sirius gave him.  The skinny former werewolf could put away even more than Sirius, much to Harry's surprise.

"So, Harry, I've been thinking…" Sirius began, startling Harry enough that he almost coughed on the bacon he'd been nibbling on.

"Yes?" Harry asked, forcing his voice not to sound suspicious.  Sentences started like *that* generally weren't promising.

"About your nightmares last night," Sirius continued, studying his plate intently.  Harry stilled his hands, the bacon suddenly feeling burnt and dry in his throat.  Weakly, Harry washed it all down with some tea, no longer hungry. _Uh oh._

"What about them?" Harry asked, and noted Remus set his own fork down to give Sirius his undivided attention.  

"Would you tell me about one?" Sirius asked tentatively, looking up and into Harry's eyes searchingly, the hesitancy in his voice showing he understood just what he was asking.  

"Why?" Harry asked simply.  

"Because you never talk about them.  Sometimes it's good to talk about these things," Sirius said firmly after a pause, and Harry understood it was costing his godfather a lot to put himself out on a limb like this.  After all, to ask such things of Harry invited them to be asked of himself, and his godfather, it turned out, was the king of evasion.  Remus appeared gobsmacked for a moment, perhaps by the irony of Sirius' own reluctance to discuss *his* nightmares, but quickly recovered his expression.  

"Perhaps we may even be able to interpret them, if you'd like," Remus prompted softly, smiling gently at Harry.

Harry held his breath while he thought about it.  _Why don't I want to tell them?  _Because he didn't want to talk about it.  _Why don't I want to talk about it?  _Because he wanted to forget_.__  But I can't, can I?  I've already tried_.  

Remus and Sirius both waited tensely, trying to appear unconcerned, as Harry tumbled the various reasons around in his mind about why he did not want to talk about things like this.  First, he *certainly* wasn't used to talking about his feelings and fears.  Second, he felt kind of silly.  When he talked about it aloud, a lot of his fears sounded small and pitiful to his own ears, making him feel like a child and sometimes even petty.  

_However_, Harry realized, _they are my family, aren't they?  _Anne's voice still echoed in his head, and Harry realized that Sirius and Remus were indeed far more significant to him than his own blood relatives had ever been.  The place Remus, Sirius, Ron and Hermione held, as well as all the Weasleys, was far more important than the Dursleys could *ever* be, even *with* personality transplants.

_Let them in.  That's what he's asking for_, a burst of insight whispered.  Remus remained perfectly still, eyes watchful, as if any sudden movement might scare Harry away.  Harry then looked at his godfather closely.  As the seconds dragged on, Sirius appeared more and more anxious, but still determined, biting the inside of his lip absently.  The rat-a-tat-tat of his slippers against the floor increased in tempo with each second that passed.  

That, more than anything else, spurred Harry on.  Sirius had made himself just as vulnerable with what he'd asked of Harry, and Harry wanted to make it perfectly clear that he would *not* reject his godfather in any way.  

With a deep breath, Harry plunged headlong into describing the nightmare he'd had the night before that held Sirius in the mouth of a Dementor and the screams that had echoed with his own.  By the time he was done recalling every detail he could remember, Sirius' eyes were wide and he had noticeably paled.  Remus, after wiping the concern from his expression to a more tolerable (to Harry at least) academic interest, appeared deep in thought.  

"That's a good dream, Harry," Remus said after clearing his throat.  Sirius' head whipped to stare at him in shock, eyes incredulous.  

"That's a good dream?" Sirius repeated.  Remus nodded encouragingly at Harry, then shot a look at Sirius discretely as if to silence him, taking a sip of tea before continuing.  Sirius flinched, and Harry suspected Remus had just kicked him under the table.

"Well, yes.  Of course, there's always two ways to look at everything, but in essence… yes," Remus replied.  

"Please do go on," Harry prompted with faint sarcasm, struggling between a frown and a smirk at Remus' response. Sirius shot him a strange look.

Remus pursed his lips thoughtfully, frowning into his tea.  "Think of it this way…" he said, and his voice trailed off for a moment.  "You ended up in Azkaban because you wanted to help free Sirius, right?" he finally asked, nearly, but not quite, blurting it.  Sirius started in his chair, looking as if he were about to be sick.  

"Yes," Harry replied reluctantly, trying to keep a covert eye on Sirius even while paying attention to Remus.  He never talked about that, and was surprised at how open and candid Remus was being.  It couldn't be good for Sirius to hear, even though it was a truth they all knew.

"So *that* could be the tie in.  However, it could also be that when you think of the Dementors, you also know you can turn to Sirius for help," Remus explained in his best professorial tones, warming up to the topic, his own discomfort beginning to fade a little in light of his interpretation.

"But I was trying to save him," Harry disagreed.  

"Many times dreams are literal.  Sirius was *inside* the Dementor, right?" Remus prompted, and Harry caught Remus shooting a concerned look of his own at Sirius.  His godfather was staring at his plate again, perfectly still, but he appeared to be listening.  Harry nodded.  

"Then you could say he, above *anyone* else, knows what goes on inside one.  He's got the best vantage to see its inner workings," Remus said, more to Sirius than Harry, and proceeded to quietly refill Sirius' teacup.  

Sirius slowly raised his eyes to look at Remus, and in that silent form of communication they seemed so adept at using, frowned for a moment then slowly began to nod.  Harry could practically hear Remus willing Sirius to see his point.  _He can turn to you for help.  You understand what he's going through.  _Sirius began to get a little color back in his face as he turned to look at Harry intently, the beginnings of the faintest smile around his eyes.  Hope.

"What about my scream?" Harry asked, directing them back to the dream, hating the lump that was beginning to form in his throat.  He still felt raw, and while he appreciated Remus' clinical analysis, Harry was still having a hard time keeping his emotions in check.  As Remus was so bent on putting a positive spin on his dream, Harry was somewhat cynically intrigued what his former professor would make of *that*.  

"You said your scream echoed with others you've seen in your visions?" Remus prompted gently, reluctance showing in every movement he made even as he continued to plow gamely forward.  Sirius' knuckles were stark white as he clenched his teacup, but he didn't say anything.

"Yes.  It was deafening," Harry replied numbly.  He wished he didn't remember that as clearly as he did.  

One of the hardest things he'd had to come to terms with once he'd woken up was that there always seemed to be a chorus waiting in the back of his mind, triggered by the slightest thing.  It sounded the same as the voices in his dream, and although he didn't tell Remus or Sirius that, he suspected Sirius knew anyway.

"That's a bit easier," Remus said, interrupting Harry's train of thought.  Harry had to suppress a coughed laugh as Sirius raised a skeptical, haughty eyebrow.  _Easy, huh?_His expression humorously mocked, trying to lighten things.  

"Your mind is pointing out that you're a victim, too," Remus stated solemly, and the stark pronouncement lay on the table between the three of them, embarrassingly truthful, as Harry tried to gather his thoughts.  

"But I'm still alive.  I won… sort of," Harry pointed out tentatively.  Technically, he'd won, although he certainly didn't feel like a victor.  The quickest flash of a grimace crossed Remus' face before he schooled it once again into academic neutrality, sipping his tea once more before answering.  He was a lot like Dumbledore in that way, Harry realized.  No one could rush his opinion, and it was understood that whatever he said would be carefully thought over first.

"Yes, but that doesn't lessen your suffering.  You're haunted by their voices, and yours was drowned out by theirs," Remus pointed out, eyes warm and sympathetic.   He watched Harry closely as he processed the former professor's words.  It was as if Remus were trying to silently communicate something to Harry as well, but he couldn't quite tell what it was, and Remus wasn't about to say it aloud.

"So what does that mean?" Harry asked anxiously after a moment, the whole conversation making him feel like squirming in his chair.  While Remus' interpretation made sense, he couldn't help the tiniest skepticism that burbled up around anything that smacked even faintly of Trelawney.  _Or do you not want to believe him?_

"Perhaps it means that you carry their voices with you, giving more weight to theirs than to your own," Remus speculated, his tone rich with sympathy.  _Ouch._

"Maybe it's time to let go of their voices and search for your own," Sirius announced solemnly.  Both Remus and Harry stared at him in slack jawed surprise.  

"What?" Sirius asked vacantly as he looked from one face to another, breaking the tension of the moment.  Harry was beginning to learn that the comedic fool was very much an act that Sirius wielded strategically when he so chose.  

"Either way, it's a positive dream," Remus said with a warm smile, making him look younger than his years and effectively closing the topic for discussion.  

Thankfully, the rest of breakfast passed with much lighter conversation.  Harry had never lived in a home where there wasn't someone screaming at him or cloying voices wheedling to get their own way at his expense.  It was shockingly restful to have a room all his own that he was encouraged to sleep late in, without any chores to do.  Certainly, there were still obligations, such as getting caught up with the rest of his class, but he wasn't expected to cook or clean.  

It left Harry with a lot of free time on the weekends, time Harry wasn't used to having.  He read a great deal now.  Hermione was bursting with pride, convinced she'd finally begun to rub off on him.  She showed up for tutoring with bags of books now that she just *knew* he'd like.  Harry would never disillusion her.

It was hard finding things that weren't too physically demanding to do.  He wandered the house quite a bit, and spent as much time as he could outdoors as well (which wasn't much).  The closest thing to being outside when he went to the overgrown nursery nestled behind the house, which Remus had eagerly claimed as his own.  

Harry found he enjoyed watching as his former professor jumped enthusiastically into trying to tame the rambling, congested greenhouse.  Years of neglect had allowed the overcrowded garden to turn practically into a jungle, but Remus remained undaunted.  With quiet confidence he separated specimens Harry couldn't tell apart, replanting and repotting tirelessly.  He worked hard to get the more temperamental magical plants to allow him to prune them, winning them over with gentle words and the ability to keep them from realizing what he was doing until it was already done.  

Sirius, on the other hand, made for a terrific digger in his Animagus form when Remus could find him, but was just as likely to be found joking with Harry or nibbling ceaselessly from the wild berry bushes that had taken over a corner.  

Harry tried to help where he could, but as he still didn't have much stamina he ended up being 'moral support', as Sirius liked to put it.  Remus would just smile and shake his head, undoubtedly amused at the irony that Sirius was about as 'supportive' as Harry was.  

Harry had never encountered a relationship like the one between Remus and Sirius.  They spent hours bantering back and forth.  They insulted each other with amazing alacrity, and were ruthless with the pranks they pulled (especially Sirius).  Evidently, this sort of thing was all a contest, or sport, to see who could insult or hex the other the most effectively, and had been going on for more years than Harry had been alive.  

No matter what pranks were done, though, there were never seemed to be any hurt feelings and both men took equal turns with charmed hair and burping bubbles in good humor.  If anything, the prospect of revenge always seemed even *more* entertaining than the original prank had been.

Unfortunately, Sirius and Remus' history also made for an easy, unspoken communication that Harry couldn't quite discern.  It meant whole conversations could occur in the space of a few chosen words, leaving Harry totally in the dark.  It also meant that in the blink of an eye, if Harry let something slip that he hadn't intended, both men would unite against him, a combined, persistent barrage of inquiries that were difficult to deflect and ended up forcing him to reveal far more than he'd intended.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice called softly, startling him from a doze.  _When did I fall asleep?  _She was kneeling beside the couch and pushing on his shoulder gently to wake him up.  He noted the blanket on him hadn't been there when he'd sat down.  _Sirius strikes again_, he thought warmly, and realized a fire was also going in the library fireplace.  

"Hey," Harry said sleepily as he uncurled and slowly sat up, looking around for his glasses, which had been on his face earlier.  Hands pushed his glasses into his palm, and Harry smiled as he saw Ron standing a few feet away.  

"How are you feeling?" Ron asked with a frown.  Harry realized it had disconcerted him finding Harry asleep.  Normally, they met in a parlor next to the library to study.

"Fine.  I think I ate too much breakfast," Harry replied quickly, and like a light switch Ron's face lit up with a big smile.  

"Good.  Don't go scaring me like that!" he said and flipped the blanket over Harry's head as he plopped beside him.  "Are they around?" he asked Hermione, suddenly serious again.  Hermione quickly strode to the door, peeking outside to see if Harry's two guardians were nearby, before pulling it softly closed behind her.  

"No.  I think I hear Sirius harassing Remus in the study," she replied in a hushed voice with the faintest twitch of her lips.  Harry was surprised at how solemnly conspiratorial they looked.  Hermione crossed the room and settled on the chair across from them, looking rather worried as she distractedly chewed on her lower lip.

"What?" Harry asked, frowning as he watched his two friends closely, instinctively wrapping his hands in the blanket on his lap.  

"Have you been reading the Daily Prophet?" Ron asked.  Harry shook his head and smiled wryly.

"Are you kidding?  They won't let me near one," Harry replied, referring to his two guardians.  There had been a time he would have been outraged at being withheld information, but in this instance he found he didn't really care all that much.  He wondered why.  

_Perhaps because you're so good at eavesdropping_, his conscience helpfully supplied.  Not that Harry did it on purpose… most of the time.  He simply always seemed to be in the right place at the right time, or the wrong time, depending on how one looked at it.

"There are a couple of things we want to talk to you about," Hermione said after a moment.  _She looks different_, Harry realized.  _More contained_.   A flash of disapproval crossed her face, but quickly vanished.  _What's this about?_

"Like?" Harry prompted.  His friends had worked hard to keep things light since Harry had first woken up.  He was surprised by the intensity and seriousness in both their faces.  It was a painful reminder of what they'd gone through as well.  

Harry hated to see the forced maturity in their eyes, yet in its way it was also oddly reassuring.  Sometimes he just assumed they would never understand the things he felt and faced.  _Even if they don't, that doesn't mean you shouldn't try_.  Harry silenced the unsolicited opinion his mind supplied.  He never said he wouldn't.

"'Mione and I talked about this, and didn't think you'd heard," Ron said as he watched his friend closely.

"Has anyone told you about Fudge?" Hermione asked, her eyes intent.  After the initial flash of panic, Harry shook his head.  _There's no reason to get freaky about this.  They arrested him.  No one's coming for me._

"One of the Unspeakables under suspicion paid him a visit where he was being held.  Apparently they gave him a vial of poison, which he took a day later.  He's dead, Harry," Hermione said, watching him intently.  

"Dad was furious.  No one was supposed to see him, but evidently Imperius was used on the guards," Ron added, his face dark with anger as well.  "Fudge should have gotten the Kiss," he spat.  Harry forced himself not to shudder.  

A few Dementors who had not been present in Azkaban at the time Voldemort attacked remained, although if the rumours Remus had spoken to Sirius about were true, those remaining were beginning to disappear, and so far the Ministry had been unable to track them.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, horrified, and Ron flinched, a surprised look on his face.  "What's wrong with you?  I can't believe you just said that!" she practically hissed, and even Harry was a bit taken aback by her anger.  Harry bit his lip in frustration as he felt the familiar tremors begin to increase within his own body.  _Perfect.  Just the thing to panic Hermione_.  

"What?  He deserves it!" Ron said, thankfully focusing completely on Hermione.  

Discretely trying to take deep breaths, Harry watched the byplay between his two friends, praying they wouldn't notice his discomfort.  It was one of the byproducts of continuously trying to push the memories out of his mind.  When something tripped it, they could all come crashing down at once and overwhelm him.  Thankfully, this time it hadn't.

"We agreed to tell him about Fudge.  What part of 'don't talk about Azkaban' didn't you get?" she scolded, but Harry was too preoccupied with getting control of his own emotions to interrupt her tirade.  

_This is pathetic.  I shouldn't be falling to pieces at the mere mention of what happened.  Merlin, even *Sirius* doesn't, and Azkaban did far more to him than anything done to me, _he knew, but still refused to think any further on it.  After all, it wasn't Azkaban that made his breath hitch in panic, but all he'd seen that chilled his soul.  

He had shots of white now peppered throughout his hair.  Sirius had been appalled when he'd first seen them, and had looked ready to rupture blood vessels.  Harry held on to that image, even though he knew he probably shouldn't see it as funny.  Personally, he didn't care.  It wasn't as if he was good looking anyway.

 "What?  I didn't…  Oh.  Bloody hell, Harry, I'm sorry," Ron thwapped himself soundly on the forehead before turning to smile apologetically at Harry.  "We figured you didn't know about Fudge, and we needed to talk to you about something…."

 "It's okay.  I overheard Sirius talking to Remus about it.  Apparently, someone at the Ministry has been trying to push for me to be there if they decided to administer the Kiss to Fudge…  which nearly gave Sirius a coronary," Harry said wryly.  _Remus__ was*definitely* a little slow with the silencing spells that time_.  

Harry had been appalled at the idea.  As much as he loathed Fudge, he had no wish to see him Kissed.  He'd seen entirely too much death already.  Hermione's eyes widened.  She hadn't known about that.

"I'd have gone," Ron promised darkly, and winced as Hermione punched him soundly on the arm.  He glared at her for a second, looking completely unrepentant.  Harry felt the hairs rise on the nape of his neck at the tone in his friend's voice, and nearly jumped as a log popped in the fireplace.  

"Way to go," Hermione glared at him.  Ron shrugged.  He had obviously meant it.  

"So what's going on?  What is it that you need to talk to me about?" Harry asked, forcing the conversation forward.  At the rate they were going, Hermione was about to bludgeon Ron with a book.  Obviously *something* had prompted his friends to talk about current events, considering they'd been dancing around anything even remotely serious now for weeks.  

"With the testimonies taken already, Percy's back at home with Dad, helping him out.  He found out everyone's coming over here for dinner, and wanted to know if he could talk with you," Ron said.  

"We told him 'no', but Mr. Weasley said it was *your* choice," Hermione said, her eyes still glittering with anger, and shook her head as if she couldn't believe Percy's nerve.  "You don't have to see him if you don't want to," she said, leaning forward earnestly.

 "Of course I'll see him," Harry answered, frowning.  Two jaws simultaneously fell open in shock.  

"Are you nuts?  He handed you over to Fudge!" Ron nearly yelled.  Hermione cast a quick silencing spell and glanced at the door nervously.  

"Harry, no one expects you to forgive him," she said, her face hard.  Harry shook his head and looked at his two friends.  

"It looks like I'm not the one who needs to forgive," Harry replied.  Ron's lip curled in anger.  _Perhaps honesty isn't the best course of action here.   Oh well.  Too late._  

"Why should we?  He handed us all over to Fudge, and he's lucky we didn't get killed.  And you…  How can you not hate him for what he did to you?" Ron was standing now, pointing angrily at Harry.  

"Percy didn't do it.  Fudge did.  Percy never saw it coming, Ron.  I could see it in his eyes.  He tried to stop them…" Harry explained, fighting the memory of that awful chair, and the Veritaserum as it burned through his veins while Fudge looked on with manic glee.  He could still see Percy as he desperately struggled to get free, to make a noise… anything to stop or distract them.

"Ron…" Hermione reprimanded sharply, and Harry suspected he'd turned a little pale.

"Ron, I don't hate your brother.  I think he's a prat for not believing me.  It's not like I ever lied to him.  But I think it was as much a matter of him not wanting to believe Voldemort had risen as it was believing I had lied, if that makes any sense," Harry tried to articulate.  

"He had them arrest you!  At our house!" Ron was clearly struggling to keep from yelling, and still towered over Harry in his frustration.  The expression on his face gave Harry the distinct impression he felt like he was trying to reason with a lunatic.  Although the thought nearly made Harry smile, he knew he'd have to cut this conversation short before it got truly ugly.  _Time for a little brutal honesty.__  Cheers_.  

"If your brother hadn't been thick with Fudge, how do you think the assault on the Burrow would have gone?  Who took Fudge out?  Your dad.  Fudge has been trying to discredit your dad for ages.  Don't you think the assault to arrest me would have been the perfect opportunity to take him *and his family* out at the same time?"  Harry demanded, surging forward in his chair but knowing he dare not stand.  He was trembling too badly to keep a solid footing.  Ron and Hermione were both stunned.  _Am I the only person that thinks of this stuff?_

"He wouldn't…" Hermione protested weakly, obviously stunned.

"What?  Throw a fifteen year old in Azkaban?  Give a teenager an adult dose of Veritaserum even though it might fry his brains?  Sell Dark Magic items to Muggles?  Lie to *everyone* about Voldemort, even though it meant he was leaving an unsuspecting public completely unprepared for Death Eater attacks?  Hire out Unspeakables to the highest bidder?  What, Hermione?  Tell me what Fudge wouldn't do," Harry said, hating to be so forceful with his friends but knowing it was necessary. 

Harry shook his head wearily. 

"As long as Fudge had a Weasley in his pocket, your dad, Ron, was less of a threat," Harry said, forcing eye contact.  Ron was the first to look away.  "Percy did more to keep your family out of danger than I did, however inadvertently, and for that I'm grateful.  Realistically, the moment I realized they might come for me, I should have gone somewhere else…" 

"You were in no condition to go anywhere, Harry Potter!" Hermione protested angrily.  "I don't see how you can take a thing like Percy's betrayal and *thank* him for it."  

"He did what he thought was right.  He was narrow minded, stubborn, and thought I was a liar, but he did what he did because he genuinely thought it was the right thing to do.  You didn't see him, Hermione.  You didn't see how horrified he was when…" Harry paused, pursing his lips together.  

"He betrayed his family and put them at risk for his own gains.  George and mum were *hurt* because of my brother," Ron said, his voice hard.  "You may be nutters enough to forgive him for turning you over to Fudge, but I never will," he promised, turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

"Where's he going?" Harry asked, not even bothering to call him back.  He knew better.  

"To tell Mr. Weasley Percy can come," Hermione said, then sighed heavily and came over to sit beside Harry on the couch.  She smiled a bit wryly and absently tucked the blanket around him before settling beside him, shaking her head at thoughts she apparently chose not to share.

"I'm sorry if I upset you," Harry apologized gently.  Hermione shrugged.  

"You're right.  It's not my place to tell you that you have to be angry with Percy.  But don't expect me to forgive him just because you have," Hermione said resolutely.  Harry nodded.

"Fair enough.  Is it bad?" Harry asked, referring to the obvious tension between Percy and the rest of the Weasleys.  

"Fred's still furious, but George is trying to get him to make peace.  Of course Mr. and Mrs. Weasley forgave Percy.  I think Ginny is impressed by all he's done to try to get you free, even though she's still angry, so she's probably going to forgive him pretty soon," Hermione guessed, ticking off Weasleys on her fingertips.  "It's hard to tell with Charlie and Bill, though.  I think it's going to take a while to get back in their good graces," she said thoughtfully.  There was no need to interpret Ron's feelings.

"Sirius wouldn't have let you go, you know," Hermione said gently, ending the comfortable silence that had settled between them.  "I mean," she paused and took a deep breath before continuing, "If they gave Fudge the Kiss."  Harry shrugged.  

"There's only so much Sirius can do," he replied, and the truth of that statement hung between them for a while as they both gazed into the fireplace thoughtfully.

"Can I ask you a question?" Hermione asked after another long pause.  

"Uh oh," Harry joked.  

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to," she said earnestly.  

"That's not a good start," he observed.  

"Stop it.  I'm trying to be serious here," A smile tugged at her lips as she softly swatted his arm.  

"I know," Harry replied solemnly.  Hermione rolled her eyes.  

"How do you feel about Fudge now that he's dead?  Are you glad?  Because I am," she stated softly.  

"Truthfully, I am, too.  But I understand what Ron was saying.  He *did* get off too easy.  After all the damage he's done to so many people, he should have suffered more.  But I wanted no part of watching him get the Kiss," he stated flatly.  

"I agree.  But I guess I can also understand why Ron's so fixated on it," she shuddered, then a small smile played at the corner of her mouth.  "Although… the Dementors might not have had anything to take," she observed dryly.  

_Good point_, Harry realized with the faintest snort, then sobered.  He realized that his teeth were chattering as the memory of cold insidiously began to overwhelm his senses.  Hermione sat quietly next to him, watching and waiting as Harry slowly got himself back under control, taking deep, slow breaths.  _I'm home. I'm safe.  Relax, already!_

 "I'm sorry.  We didn't mean to upset you," Hermione apologized, and leaned against Harry's shoulder, rubbing his forearm gently until Harry's tremors began to ease.  

"Nothing to be sorry about," Harry replied, and stared into the burning embers thoughtfully.

Truthfully, it was shocking to find that someone who'd made him miserable for so long was suddenly gone.  It seemed so… simple.  Easier than Harry had expected.  After all, he was well aware of his luck.__

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked intently, looking at Harry searchingly.  Abruptly, she stood up and headed over to a table in the corner that Dobby had stocked with foods and drink.  _I guess not_, Harry thought wryly.  Hermione poured a cup of hot chocolate and forced it into his hands before settling beside him once more.  Harry shrugged.  

"I suppose that's relative," Harry replied absently, blowing on his drink before taking a sip, then realized Hermione had taken him literally, standing up as if to call for Sirius or Remus.  "No!  Hermione, I'm fine.  Really.  I was joking," he said, but Hermione's expression was skeptical.  

"You don't look too good," she said critically.  

"I'll be fine.  Hot chocolate seems to help, oddly enough," Harry replied candidly, and closed his eyes as the warm drink slid down his throat.  "How are you and Ron?  Honestly?" he asked.  They always smiled and said they were 'fine' when he asked, but Harry knew that they were reluctant to upset him, so if they *weren't* fine, they most certainly wouldn't tell him.  

"We're doing better.  It's been hard staying with Ron.  The Weasleys are wonderful people, but I'm not used to all that arguing.  I miss my parents, but Dumbledore thought I should stay at the Burrow until the Ministry has taken my testimony about when they kidnapped you," Hermione replied.  

"I didn't know they were doing that," Harry said in surprise.  

"There's no way Fudge would have skated through this.  He was counting on you dying to cover things up," Hermione stated bluntly.  

"*That* I am aware of," Harry replied.  

"I hate to see the Weasleys so polarized.  And truthfully, I feel the same way.  I think Percy has no business hanging about, helping his father.  Why doesn't he just go skulk off and lick his wounds in private, if he feels so bad?" she asked brutally.  Harry's eyebrows raised.  

"Because I made him promise that they'd find out the truth," Harry said simply.  

"What?" Hermione asked, staring at him in surprise.  

"In the Interrogation Room.  I made him promise.  And he's keeping it," Harry replied, his eyes beginning to drift closed.  

"Well, that certainly explains a lot," Hermione said softly.  "Get some rest.  You've got a few hours before the rest of the Weasleys get here, and Sirius will kill us when he sees how pale you are."  

"I'll be fine," Harry mumbled sleepily, the soft crackle of the fireplace soothing as the warmth of the hot cocoa began to seep into his veins.  His head began to nod.

"I know, Harry.  I know," Hermione replied soothingly, and he missed the look of tenderness mixed with determination she gave him as she pushed him back onto the cushions of the couch.  He barely remembered her tucking the blanket firmly around him, or the murmured whispers of Ron's voice as he returned.  He slept peacefully, without nightmares, for several hours.  

**********************************************************************


	41. Flight

**Disclaimer:  **Can you believe I'm telling you Harry Potter is *still* not mine?  Hmmm…  Maybe I'll just say 'Ditto to previous chapter' next time instead.  *g*

**Author's Note:    ***blinks in shock_*  'You__ love me! You *really* love me!' *giggles goofily*  _

Thank you so much to all of you who voted for me in the Harry Potter Fan Fiction awards.  I still can't believe I won.  I'll have you know that I did sign up to try to join the chat, but by then it was already over.  Alack. *shakes head*  I was poised, fingers hovering over the keboard and ready to go the week before, I tell you!  

I am deeply honored and touched that you have enjoyed my writing.  This last chapter has been a difficult one to write.  Snape took control, and it took several revisions to wrest it out his grasp completely.  Needless to say, being the long winded soul he is capable of being means I didn't get all I wanted said conveyed.  

So…  You'll get another chapter after this.  But one more, I'm telling you!  That's it.  *nods head vigorously*  No more.  And it's going to be short!  (I'm not sure who I'm trying to convince, here, so nod like you agree with me.  It's the safest thing to do) 

Also, I'm reposting the previous chapter, but it's only got two minor revisions to keep the sake of continuity flowing smoothly.  Little tweaks, and considering how long it's been since I posted previously, hopefully you won't *quite* remember anyway.  *g*  

I am also still obsessed with reviews, so please feed the addiction.  Hope you enjoy the chapter!  On with the show…

**Epilogue 2**

Magic, it seems, has a profound sense of irony.  Why else is an innocuous fifteen year old boy the most powerful wizard in all of Europe…  possibly the world?  Who else would I have to bind my life to than the son of one of my most despised childhood nemeses in order to save us all from the most evil wizard of our time?  Why must *he* be the one to finally set me free?  _The Gods must find me terribly amusing._

The last of my obligations to Potter ends today.  The spell that binds me to him will be severed, and my thoughts and feelings will be mine alone once more.  I'll have to endure Black and Lupin, as well as Potter's sycophantic friends to do it, though, and feel my eyelid twitch at the thought.  I make a mental note to take a flea repellant potion upon my return home.  All the Weasleys are coming to dinner tonight at Potter Central, so I fervently hope to be gone by then.  They're like locusts.  

"Did you sleep well last night?" Albus asks me as we approach the threshold of Potter's new home.  

"Yes," I lie.  "Yourself?" I ask, indulging his annoying need for pleasantries.  Albus has been introspective for days now, his eyes speculative with thoughts he's deigned not to share with anyone… evidently not even Minerva.  I've watched her twitter about, taking up the burdens of Headmaster he lately seems to feel no need to attend to, her lips pursed with unspoken concern.  She would have made an appalling spy.  

"I slept well, thank you.  How are your potions coming along?  Any side affects to being tied to Harry when he cast the Curse?" Albus asks.  

_He's fishing_.  I've been closed mouth about the whole affair, with him and most especially with Pomfrey.  It's hard enough to believe concern for me as a patient anyway, knowing that the Wizarding medical world is dying to know if I, like my former brethren, have been reduced to a Squib, since I obviously did not perish.

I don't tell them because it's too personal.  How can a man my age, having done what I've done, get such a second chance?  My magic is pure now.  That is the only way to describe it.  It leaps from my wand, eager in its response, fast and instantaneous.  

Whereas before it was slow yet powerful, a steady thrum I wielded like a cumbersome fist, brutal and final, now my magic dances just below the surface of my skin.  It sings in my veins, even when all I am doing is *thinking* about how best to alter or modify a potion.  

As a child and sullen teen, I believed Dark Magic was the key to unlocking my inner resources, tapping that which I knew I had within me but had yet to access.  Now I know the truth; the lessons I tried to teach Potter I've finally learned myself.  It is all about Intent.

I'm no Squib by any means.  At first I was terrified that I'd never be able to create another Dark potion; that I'd be limited to healing potions and the mundane like any common potions maker.  Not true.  Perhaps because I never intended harm with the Potions I've done (except for a few, and they were warranted), my abilities remain intact.  Enhanced, even, now that I can feel my magic rather than forcing it through each brewing stage.

The Dark magic I've done, even those I've harmed, I've always held profound regret for.  My magic must have sensed this reluctance, and through it I had found yet another way to punish myself.  The way in which I cast magic must have simply been an extension of my guilt, and undoubtedly it would have remained unchanged until the day I died… Had it not been for him.  

**_Dark._****_  Light.  Heart in Darkness, Soul in Light.  _****__**

My sentence.  My reprieve.    Judgment passed, and I, a pathetic man lost in his own guilt, am forgiven by the very magic I expected to forsake me.  How can I explain how beautiful it feels to be forgiven and believe it?  To feel clean, and cleansed?  My past will always remain with me, a reminder of my own pride and arrogance and what I came to.  But I'm finally learning: Penance isn't just self-flagellation.  I understand that now.  It's admitting my weakness, my mistakes, and having the courage to vow to do better next time.  There's no way in hell I'm admitting *any* of this to Albus.

"Better," I reply vaguely and feel him searching my face for more answers than I'm willing to give.  

"Good," he replies, and I see his beard twitch.  I hate it when he does that.

"And how is your recovery progressing?" I ask, changing topic.  

"Well.  I'm regaining strength quickly for such an old man," he replies brightly.  The burden on both of us to sustain Potter's life took a tremendous toll once his Killing Curse was cast.  Even now I find I fatigue easily.  I can only imagine how Albus must feel, tied to us both.

My joints ache, and I find my dungeons do not help.  I'll weather it, though.  The comfort I find in those stone walls far outweighs any physical discomfort.  

As we approach the front door, it opens to reveal Malfoy's former House Elf.  _Thrilling_.  I only learned recently he's stalked Potter for years.  _Color me surprised.  _

"We're here to see Harry, Dobby," Albus prompts politely, and Dobby smiles warmly at him before glancing cautiously at me.  I have a reputation for a short temper with more than just my peers.

"Albus!" A voice says from behind the elf, startling the obnoxious creature.  He beams toothily at Albus once more before slipping inside just as a hand reaches from behind the door, pulling it wider to reveal Lupin, a smile on his face as he gazes affectionately at us both.  His expression annoys me.    

"Headmaster!  It's good to see you.  Have you come for dinner?" Lupin asks before nodding to me and opening the door wide.  "You're welcome, too, Severus," he says.  I raise an eyebrow.  _Eat dinner with Black?  __Do I look tanked?_

"No, no.  We've some errands to run as well, so unfortunately we can't stay.  Thank you, though," Albus demurs politely.  "How has Harry been?" he asks a few moments later as we follow Lupin deep inside the ramshackle labyrinth Potter calls home.   I don't bother listening to his reply. 

I come four times a week to tutor the boy.  I've seen how he's doing.  He's ghostly pale, far too thin still, although he appears to be filling out a little.  The dark shadows under his eyes only serve to further highlight the oddly luminous color of them.  He's withdrawn and thoughtful. Not that he was ever gregarious, but at least he was close with Weasley and Granger.  

He is disconcertingly watchful and misses nothing, I've realized.  Ticks, gestures, habits…  He notices them all, which makes me oddly uncomfortable when I'm teaching him.  Being cruel in class serves a dual purpose.  Not only do I teach the buggers how to endure and thrive in a hostile environment, but it keeps their heads down and avoiding eye contact as well.  Although he doesn't talk much, he's a keen observer and has proven shockingly easy to teach as of late.  

I don't think his near death has suddenly increased his I.Q., however.  But perhaps it has taught him a thing or two about truly listening.  He acts far older than a teen-ager, and his movements, still studied and cautiously slow, reinforce that impression of advanced age even while his gangly body makes him look all of twelve.  

Lupin, I realize, evidently is giving a highly detailed account of just *how* Potter is doing as he is still answering Albus' questions.  '_Fine' or 'Better' would have sufficed._

"…  All of his professors were impressed how quickly he seems to be catching up…"  I vaguely listen as Albus responds to Lupin's question about Potter's academic standing.  _What else is a bed-ridden boy going to do through the fall and winter months?  Of course he'll get good at studying.  _I shake my head in private amusement.  

I wonder idly as I scratch my forearm and Lupin drones on how Narcissa has weathered this storm.  I'm sure she's been in her element playing the role of 'grieving widow', despite the public disgrace that has come upon the Malfoy name.  After all, devoted spouses cannot be blamed for loving the wrong man, can they?  I suppress a laugh as I visualize her saying just that.  _Oh, yes, my dear.  You'll survive this just fine_.  _But now that you're free of Lucius' influence, what are the values that *you* will choose to try to instill in your son?  Where will you place your own loyalties?  _That I am curious to see.

I find it ironic how much information Lupin is supplying on Potter's behalf.  Especially considering how much more he has to say on the subject of how Potter is doing than the boy himself *ever* would.  Potter keeps his own counsel now, as far as I can tell.  There's a distance between himself and those who love him…  One I see keenly felt in Lupin and Black both.  One I don't think anyone has successfully bridged yet.  

I blink, vaguely surprised I didn't notice that we've traveled the length of the home and are now stepping out into the back yard beyond.  The looming trees are awash in the colors of fall, a glorious burst of orange, brown and red, contrasted elegantly against the glittering light of the tiny spring that swirls lazily at their base.  

It is as picturesque a scene as I once could ever have imagined The Boy Who Lived residing.  The brutal memories of his past I now share are stark reminder how novel a good environment truly is for him.   

Nestled amidst a cluster of gnarled trees is the building Lupin fondly calls a nursery, and obviously our destination.  The huge clusters of windows that also serve as the nursery walls are slightly obscured with steam, hiding its contents from view.  I quash a growing concern at Potter's safety in there, so far away from the home itself.  After all, it will shortly no longer be my affair.  

As Lupin pushes the enormous doors open before us, a slight touch of magic swirls inside my mind, alerting me that Potter knows I'm here.  I catch a glimpse of Albus' eyebrow raising.  _Does that mean you felt that too, I wonder?  _How aware is Potter of the bond I share with his Headmaster?  

It is indeed much warmer within the nursery than even Potter's home.  I breathe deeply the moist smell of earth rich and fertile.  I am amazed at the diversity of plants, both magical and otherwise that I automatically catalog as I glance past.  I recognize a great many healthy specimens for my potions.  My palms itch at the thought.  

He's sitting lengthwise on a bench beside a small pond, legs buried beneath layers of multiple blankets.  Black sits beside him as a dog…  _Good.  So he wasn't left alone_… but pops into human form the moment he realizes Dumbledore has arrived.  Potter looks directly at me, and although his face is expressionless, his eyes hold a warmth that I haven't had the heart to snuff out… yet.  _I'm definitely going soft._

I've fed him energy and vitality each night since leaving Hogwarts.  His nightmares still jolt me awake, and I'll admit to no one my tendency to use the link to try to soothe his well-concealed distress.  He bottles everything up, a condition I'm all too familiar with.  Poppy's anxious confession for the need for additional ulcer potions has left no question in my mind who it's for, although no one has told me directly.  

"Headmaster!"  Black says warmly, and I notice he too looks better than he has since his escape from Azkaban.  

I feel a facial tick coming on.  The further he looked from his Hogwarts days, the better I felt about him…  which isn't saying much, considering I loathe the man.  We still have a score to settle someday, he and I.  But for Potter's sake, I've shelved it indefinitely.  No matter.  I have a long memory.  

"Sirius, how are you?" Albus asks, his own eyes appraising.  He appears to have come to the same conclusion as I have.  

"Good.  I love it here," he says, gesturing around expressively.  His eyes are bright and the sallow coloring of his skin has turned faintly gold from sun.  _Chasing the neighbor's chickens, no doubt._

"Have you gone to town much?" Albus asks, and seemingly a curtain comes down over Black's expression.  Potter is slowly standing up to join us.  

"I never imagined myself resentful of people's skepticism against the _Daily Prophet," Potter replies dryly in Black's stead.  _

_Oh_.  It appears the public announcement of Black's innocence has left non-believers in its wake.  _Don't smile.  Don't smile_.  I successfully repress the urge.  Lupin strolls forward to stand beside his friend in silent support and comfort_.  I suppose snickering is a bad idea as well.  Bother.  __Oh well.  I'm only human. _

"Having trouble 'getting the word'?" I ask, simply because some opportunities aren't meant to be passed.  I swore an oath to the Light, after all, not to be nice.

"Severus…" Albus begins, a faint warning in his voice, but my eyes are on Potter.  It's his response that interests me.  

"I'm sure he's not the only one who would rather his reputation didn't precede him," Potter replies, and the barb hits home, even as it could be innocently read that he was referring to himself.  I know better.

"The price of fame," I reply with a nonchalant shrug, and let it go.  Potter's eyes flit between Black and myself, gauging and measuring.  _Those eyes are entirely too aware_.  

"They'll learn in time.  I'll make sure of it," Potter promises, and I realize he's saying it to me as much as Black.  

**My life isn't yours to meddle with, boy,** I send viciously.  If I surprised him with the silent communication, he covers it well.  Only the faintest hint of pupil dilation gives him away.  _Well done, _I must admit.  

Potter has no business associating himself with me.  His own reputation is tarnished enough as it is.  Who knows what will be the final push that topples public opinion against him?  Anyone who wields the kind of power he'll have once he's fully recovered isn't likely to die of natural causes, and I've yet to read of one who led a peaceful life.  

**And mine isn't yours to control,** Potter replies.  My eyes narrow, but before I can retort, Black speaks up.

"You'll do no such thing, Harry," his godfather says sternly, and I have to repress a snort of amusement.  How ironic that on this we agree.  

"You've been persecuted long enough, Sirius.  It's time it stops," Potter says firmly, and I notice Black's own resentment and bitterness fade in the face of Potter's determined proclamation.  

"You've already saved the world once this year.  Perhaps you can wait a little before trying again?" Lupin asks wryly, and I see Potter's lip twitch.  

"I get it," Potter says with a roll of his eyes.  It thankfully makes him seem a little younger.  "But I won't let this go on for long," he promises ominously, and I sigh.  It obviously isn't an idle threat.  He means every word.  _Oh well.  The three seconds he acted his age were nice while they lasted.  _

"Then perhaps I should intervene before Harry's cause turns into a crusade?" Albus asks, and I nearly miss the look of satisfaction in Potter's eyes before determination returns.  

_Did he just manipulate the Headmaster? _I don't *think* my jaw is hanging open, but clench my teeth just in case.

"I'm sure that's not why you're here," Lupin prompts, and I notice his eyes are wide as well.  

_Did you notice too, Wolf?  Did he really do that, or am I reading too much into this?  _I don't think I am.  The satisfaction that flashed across Potter's face wasn't my imagination.  I can't help but want to chortle aloud at the thought.  How delightfully ironic!  The master manipulator being manipulated…  

Unless he knew he was being manipulated?  I glance covertly at Albus.  He's *twinkling* as much as ever.  _Albus_, you would have made a *great* spy_.  And for that, I will always respect him._

Whether Potter's machinations were noticed or not, though, the results will undoubtedly be the same.  There will shortly be a large publicity campaign to recognize Black's innocence.  _Ah, to wield Potter's influence_.  

_Don't you look at me, boy_, I glare as I abruptly catch Potter's eyes sliding over my face blandly.  If I don't put a stop to it, he may try to do something to improve my reputation as well.  _Merlin protect me from a Gryffindor with a cause_.  How tedious.

"Indeed, we aren't.  Too right, Remus.  I don't suppose you could have some tea brought out?  I would like to talk to Harry alone for a moment," Albus says in a clear dismissal.  

Black looks at me, his eyes hooded.  I'm no longer clear what his feelings for me are.  He smiles warmly at Potter, ruffling his hair, then nods at me curtly before leaving.  It amuses me that Albus' version of 'alone' includes my company.  I think I'm oddly flattered.

Lupin nods respectfully at Albus, then at me as well.  I pull out a flask of tea I brought with me.  I tilt it at him with a bland expression on my face.  _No tea for me, thanks, my expression says.  I'll not get caught in those two's prank wars again.  Once was enough, much to Lupin's chagrin.  I was an albino for two days, thanks to him, although after profuse apologies I must acknowledge that even I believe it was Black who had been the target.  Having pink eyes was a bit too close for comfort to a pair of red eyes I'd now rather forget.  _

Lupin looks stunned for a moment.  He pauses, as if questioning that I did indeed just make a joke.  My gesture has completely flummoxed him.  With wide eyes, he turns and retreats outside quickly, his shoulders shaking.  

Potter's lips quirk as well as he watches them both leave.  I'm sure he finds the Black/Lupin dynamic as intriguing as I do.  How two grown men who share such a wealth of pain between them can act so… immature, is intriguing to say the least.  Lupin especially. 

I'm unclear of my own feelings now that Lupin has been de-clawed, so to speak.  Years of animosity were founded on a very real fear.  I know what a werewolf truly is.  I've seen it.  I knew it lived inside him even when it wasn't a full moon.  

A calm exterior has hidden many a monster from view.  In my former line of work, I saw what lay behind the guise of innocence.  The faces of angels can hide very Dark souls.  But no beasts lurk behind Lupin's eyes now…  And as a man he's always been someone whose quiet intellect I respected, even while I loathed the company he kept.

Albus gestures Potter back to the nest of blankets he'd emerged from, although it boggles the mind that he's still chilled.  It feels more like a sauna.  I settle on a batch of smooth rocks at a distance, listening but not close enough to distract Potter's attention.  Albus settles on the bench beside him, his movements ginger as if his joints pain him.  I frown.

"How are you feeling?" Albus asks.  Potter's eyes land on me briefly, a frown evident on his face as well, then slide back to his Headmaster.  He noticed Albus' tentativeness too then.

"Better," Potter says sincerely.  And although I believe him, his face is still tinted faintly grayish and lined with fatigue.  It's a tiredness that can only come from long extended illness.  It reminds me that although I have supplied him with ample energy, the majority of his recovery is still not yet complete.  _I think cutting the link is premature.  I dare not say it aloud.  I am not *that* soft._

"You are doing well this year," Albus says.  Potter's lips compress for a moment.  

"But there is still much to catch up on," he replies with a rueful shrug.  I know he intends to study nonstop until he's caught up, but I don't intend to let him succeed.  He needs rest, and if he refuses to acknowledge his need to recuperate, then I shall use any means necessary to insure he gets it whether he likes it or not.  Even if it means enlisting Black and Lupin to do so.  _Perish the thought._

"Your Quiddich team misses you," Dumbledore says gently.  Potter's shoulders slump a bit with discouragement.  They've already lost two games this year, and it's unlikely they'll be able to win the House Cup at this rate.

"I miss flying," Potter replies candidly.  Unspoken is the guilt he feels that his team lost.  Of course, he doesn't seem to realize that anyone who loses against Hufflepuff is beyond redemption anyway.  _Is there anything you *don't* feel guilty about, Potter? I muse.___

"Madam Pomfrey is hopeful that within a month or so, you may be strong enough to begin riding your broom again," Albus says encouragingly, his eyes jumping from Potter to me.  

"I'd like that," Potter replies, hopeful skepticism plainly written on his face.  

"I know what your professors tell me, but what do *you* think of how your magic is recovering?" Albus asked, his voice sofly conversational.  _Just a lazy day by the pond_…   Though his voice is couched in innocent inquiry, I know better.  

Albus has listened eagerly as each of Potter's professors have reported back to him of Potter's amazing new grasp of magic.  Since Azkaban, although his reserves have been dramatically depleted, each time a class assignment has required the actual performance of magic, he only needs one try for each new spell he does, no matter how complicated.  

"It feels different now.  I'm not sure why.  It's like the magic guides how I do things," Potter says, frowning as he tries to formulate his reply.  "Which is a good thing, as I don't have much energy to waste on multiple tries."

"It will take time for your reserves to replenish.  Perhaps even years," Albus cautions.  "It's important not to exert yourself too severely."  Potter rolls his eyes.  

"I don't think I'm in any danger of doing that," he replies dryly, a slight smile on his face.  He of course is referring to the cadre of obsessive worriers that flock around him incessantly.  I know Albus has given both Weasley and Granger the ability to visit him on weekends, and with Lupin and Black constantly hovering as well, I'm sure the poor boy gets absolutely no privacy at all.  

"I'm curious.  Have you been practicing your Animagus form?" Albus asks curiously.  Potter's eyes nearly bulge out of his head.  I go to take a sip from my flask to hide my amusement.  It's the most animated I've seen him.

"You're kidding, right?  Madam Pomfrey said she's got magical monitors to let her know if I do *any* non-school sanctioned magic at all," Potter replies, completely clueless.  

As I was taking a sip from my flask, I'm not able to recover quick enough and snort tea through my nose.  I can't help but cough a laugh or two even as I wipe my face, tears leaking in my efforts to repress future chortles.  _Absolutely priceless_.  

"What?" Potter asks me blankly.  I don't think his expression would be much different if I suddenly burst into song.  It's clear he thinks I've lost my mind.  _How rich and paranoid of her!_  No wonder the students are all terrified of the Hospital Wing, with threats like that.  My regard for the esteemed Head Nurse rises up a few notches from the bottom peg, and my lips are still twitching merrily even as the rest of my face returns to bland indifference.  Albus, too, is having a hard time keeping from laughing.  

"Harry…"  Albus begins.  Potter turns back to Albus, already beginning to blush.  He knows we're having a laugh at his expense.

"What did I miss?" Potter asks, and I am ridiculously pleased by his ignorance and naïveté.  There's hope yet.  

"There isn't such a spell," Albus replied, his voice trembling suspiciously.  

"There isn't?" Potter asks, his eyebrows rising.  

"No, Harry.  There isn't.  There are spells to monitor *any* magic usage by an individual, but certainly nothing that I am aware of that filters out curriculum oriented spells versus non-authorized ones," Albus explains.  "Especially considering you're not even on school grounds."  

"She lied," Potter states, his tone faintly shocked.  

"Evidently, she did," Albus agrees.  

"That…  Well…," Potter frowns as he tries to reply.  There are parts of his face that are blushing that I didn't think physically could.  "I certainly bought it," he finally states, his voice almost an octave higher in embarrassment.  

"Didn't you bother to validate it?" I finally can't help but ask.  I didn't think it possible, but Potter turns even redder.  

"Yes…  Well, I asked Sirius about it," he says, and I raise an eyebrow.  

"Indeed," I reply blandly, still highly amused.  

"Needless to say, 'no' is the answer to your question," Potter replies, shaking his head ruefully, but I can see the glimmer of a smile on his lips.  

"I see," Albus replies and motions for me to join them.  I perch on the arm of the bench, refusing to displace either Potter or Albus.  Potter's discomfort is causing him to avoid my eyes, which suits me perfectly.  

"I assume you know why we're here?" Albus asks after a moment.  Potter's face returns to its normal, solemn self.  

"To break the link that binds us," Potter replies.  

"Us?" Albus prompts.  

"You, Professor Snape, and me," Potter replies.  Albus appears pleased with the answer.  

"Very good, Harry.  How could you tell?" he asks, genuinely curious.  He always did love a good mystery.

"I can feel you.  Like I can the professor.  I realized that I can almost *see* energies, sometimes.  I could trace them to Professor Snape, and through him to you.  That's what you did, isn't it?" Potter asks.  

"It is," Albus responds.  Potter's expression darkens, and I can see he's troubled.  

"I wish you wouldn't have put yourself at risk," Potter says finally.  I hold back my own angry retort to that statement.  After all, he didn't want the bond with me either, in the beginning.  

"It's simple really, Harry.  You weren't alone.  If I could take back all that happened to you, I would.  If I could take your burdens upon my own shoulders, I would without hesitation.  But the path you've walked is yours alone.  All I can do is stand by your side and promise to do all that I can, to bring all that I have to bear to your aid.  This I shall continue to do.  To *not* have aided Severus in his support of you would have been reprehensible," Albus says solemnly.  Potter's face is sad for a moment, and I resist the urge to try to probe his thoughts.  Then he lights up with a gentle smile.  

"I'm grateful to have you," he replies simply.  Albus claps his hands as if proclaiming it's now time to get on with business, but I see Potter's reply has touched him.  I suspect Albus expected Potter to blame him in some way for all that has come to pass.  In a very real sense Albus' decisions and choices are what Potter has had to bear.

"But before we end the bond, let's allow Severus to remain one last time while you transform into your Animagus form.  Just in case," Albus says, interrupting my thoughts.  I nod and seat myself facing the bench, folding my legs underneath me.  Albus eyes me enviously.

"It's been many a day since I could do that," he says nostalgically.

"I've got just the potion to replicate that," I reply.

"And would I still have any bones underneath?" Albus asks dryly.

"Ah.  There's the rub," I answer.  Potter's eyes are dancing as he looks between us.

"And now that Poppy's integrity is suspect…" Albus observes with mock melancholy, and out of the corner of my eye I watch Potter once again shake his head, his ears red.

"Alas," I answer in a wavering voice in a fair imitation of Albus' own.

"So, on the matter of returning to your Animagus form, is there any review you believe you'll require?" Albus asks, even though it's obvious he knows the answer. _ I hate it when he does that_.  

"No, sir.  I pretty much memorized it over the summer," Potter replies.  Actually, I think he did.

"Excellent.  If this goes smoothly, I think you can begin to work with your Animagus form on your own, under supervision, of course…  Do so sparingly at first.  Take the opportunity to familiarize yourself with your Animagus form's more *unique* aspects.  Shall we begin?" Albus prompts.  Potter nods.  

"Sirius is going to have kittens," he says, anticipation bright in his eyes.  Personally, I would as well, if I learned that my godson was being encouraged to utilize his Animagus abilities so early in his recovery.  But whether I think it's wise or not, I'll defer to Albus' discretion...  And wait to corner him until we're back at Hogwarts.

"That I would be intrigued to see," I respond dryly, and allow my eyes to close.  

With Potter so close by, the link between us has been practically humming in my ears as it is.  I recognize Albus' machinations.  This is to be one final 'check-up' before severing the bond that ties us together.  One last, deep look into Potter's psyche to see if he's doing as well as everyone hopes.  I understand his concerns.  After all, Potter is so disgustingly *good*.  Who is really like that nowadays?  Albus has misjudged before.  _As have I._  

**Ready?** I ask as I let myself fall away from my own body as easily as removing a robe.  It's routine now, and Potter lets me into his thoughts effortlessly.  The sensations are much different, though.  This is the first time I've actively entered Potter's consciousness since Azkaban.  There is no struggle to remain aware.  I simply am.

Feelings and thoughts not my own wash over me.  _Pain.  It's still here.  Muted and dulled, but present.  My guesses were correct.  It is Potter who's taking the ulcer potions.  I wish Pomfrey would have said something.  With symptoms like these, I have much stronger recipes that will be far more effective than the weak ones she's been doling out.  __Regret.  He's still struggling with guilt, I see.  No surprise there, although what he has to feel guilty about, I don't understand.  All I know is he doesn't seem capable of functioning without it.  _

He's still twitchy from the spell he unleashed; his nerves fried.  But that's considerably better than it's been…  There are even brief moments of stillness.  _Excellent.  I move on.  I have a small window of time in which to make a true assessment.  He still suffers, but it's easing, and will continue to do so.  He's endured far worse.  I have no need to worry about him once our bond is severed.  __I don't.  _

His emotions are a jumble, far more complicated now that he's back home.  It's obvious that he's still struggling to reconcile what he's gone through with where he is now.  _Too good to be true._  Waiting for the other shoe to drop.  _All those trite sayings fit nicely.  He's trying to allow himself to relax and enjoy, but can't quite let go completely.  There's still a part of him waiting for something more to happen.  Something bad.  I sigh in his mind._

**Is there something wrong?** Potter asks.  He's watching me watch him while Albus watches us both.  _I have a headache._

**No, Potter.  Just seeing you still aren't sleeping well.  Are you sure you aren't too fatigued to try this?** I sneer as a distraction.  

**No, sir.  I feel rested,** Potter replies politely.  He's not lying.  Evidently, he did have a nap this afternoon before coming out here.    

**That is hardly the word I would use to describe how you feel,** I reply, then flinch mentally at my own tactlessness.  That wasn't quite what I'd intended to say, but his pain is making *me* ache.  

**I'm getting better.  It's not perfect, but nothing is,** Potter answers, his voice firm and perhaps a bit defensive.  I read clearly his frustration at having sympathy directed at him.  He doesn't want it.  _Good.  He'll get none from me_.

**Say it isn't so,** I say dryly.  I feel him begin to grow frustrated.  _Now why am I baiting him? _ Perhaps because I think it unwise for him to drain himself further still to satisfy an old man's curiosity, but at the stern look Albus has just sent my way, do not say so aloud. 

**Sir, this is as energetic as it gets,** Potter explains in a tone that one would use with a child.  I ignore it.  

**Then I shall be leaving some explicit instructions with Pomfrey about just what your recovery regimen should also entail once this meeting is over,** I promise ominously, as much to soothe my own conscience as a commentary on the state of his health.  He sighs.  

**Yes, sir,** he says to placate me, and oddly enough, I am.  I take his recovery seriously, and he does not question why, thank Merlin.  It's embarrassing to realize that I have the capacity to fret over him like a mother hen…  _Like Black…  But at least I do it with a margin of decorum._

Since the creation of the bond between us, I've found it fascinating to get such an intimate perspective of him.  The face he presents to the world shows none of his pain, his insecurity, his guilt; while underneath, emotions churn up his insides.  

I sense him holding me within his mind and watching me in open curiosity.  He knows I'm taking his measure, and doesn't care.  He may resent the intrusion, but I get the feeling he's already aware of my dreamtime interventions, and touched by them.  It makes his response to this invasion of his privacy far more relaxed than I suspect it would have been otherwise.  After all, he guards his feelings closely.  If only they didn't show in his eyes, then everyone would be fooled.

**You've got to learn to let go, Potter,** I chide a bit more gently than I intended in response to echoes of his most recent nightmares reverberating within my mind.  

**I'm trying.  Truthfully, I am doing much better,** Potter replies.

I find a certain affinity for Potter in that we both stand at a crossroad.  Our life purposes have been fulfilled.  We are free of the destinies laid before us, although mine was of my own choosing.  He's spent all his energy focusing on one goal, and now that it's done, he's a bit lost.  He never expected to have a life *after* Voldemort, and truthfully neither did I.  Our respective futures loom before us, empty and unexplored.

**Gentlemen,** Albus prompts, and I feel Potter start.  _Sneaky bastard.  I didn't know he could speak to both of us this way.  Obviously Potter didn't either._

"Sorry, sir," Potter says aloud, and I know my time analyzing him is at an end.  I brace myself to leap to his aid magically should he need me, but will do nothing in the interim.  I won't be with him any longer.  He'll have to do this on his own.  I ignore the small part of me will grieve the loss of companionship, and resent Albus for forcing it on me in the first place.  Sentimentality is for the fools and foolhardy.  I am neither.

Tingling skin is the first sign that he's enacting his Animagus abilities.  Instead of a gradual buildup, however, as it was last time, it is instantaneous.  I am startled to realize he's already at the next level.  Flesh shifts, bones grow, bend, shorten, skin roils into something else entirely.  I'm still with him as his perspective shifts, and the strange discomfort passes as quickly as it has come.  

_I think it worked.  And I have feathers! _he means to say, but fails.  Instead, his throat clenches to make a sound, and he squawks, startling us both.  As I see through his eyes, I find we appear to have panorama vision.  _I'd forgotten about that.  All I can remember from the previous transformation is the bitter cold and his manic laughter.  Intrigued, I sit back, an observer as he takes his time to get acquainted with his Animagus form.  _

Potter stretches his wing in front of him, anticipation making his heart beat quickly.  He's pleased with the easy transformation, and rightfully so.  He doesn't seem drained at all, just slightly breathless.  He's eager to see what he looks like.  _As am I_.  

Thankfully, this time he has feathers.  Something sweet smelling distracts him for a moment, and Potter looks around, concentrating on where the scent is coming from.  I feel his mirth burble up as he looks towards Albus.  

I'm amazed.  Just like last time, a spark of humor shines forth as he realizes it's Dumbledore he's smelling.  _Is it something about the form itself that seems to lift his spirits? Could this be why his Animagus form appears to be Black's refuge as well, and if so, are the emotional responses the same between all Animagi?  __I'll need to ask Minerva about that.  Or Albus, the crafty wizard.  Is this why he was so insistent Potter transform?_

I know the promise of becoming an Animagus was as much Albus' ruse to allow Potter to consent to the bond as it was a plan to sustain his life.  Truly, I was shocked we were able to get him to transform even once, considering how much damage he'd already sustained from his dreams before the Burrow was ever raided.

**Do you think he's eaten so many sweets he's made of them now?** Potter jokes to me, only in half jest, breaking my chain of thought.  Albus must have heard, because on cue he removes a small satchel of gumdrops from his robe pocket.  

"You must be smelling these," Albus observes as he casually leans forward from where he was sitting, peering at Potter closely as he absently sets the satchel between them.  "You're beautiful," he states, and Harry feels a little disconcerted by the compliment.  _It's not one a bloke gets often, anyway_, Potter thinks, and I suppress the urge to shake my head.  Only a teenager... 

"Look at yourself," Dumbledore continues.  "I think Poppy should have you transform into your Animagus form every time she wants to find out how you're honestly feeling," he only partially jokes.   I make a mental note to emphasize that it would be even better for Potter to do so when his darker depressions descend.  _How ironic for *this* to be how Potter's Animagus form is finally utilized, instead of in Azkaban, where Potter had originally intended._

Harry quirks his neck forward and down in such an angle as to be able to look at himself.  He has a bright red chest of feathers.  Struggling a bit to view past his breast without losing balance, he lowers his head.  Sure enough, he has gold taloned feet, which he flexes curiously against the cushion of blankets he currently stands on.  

**Do I have the tailfeathers, too?** Potter wonders aloud, and I sigh.  

**Well, look and see,** I say with feigned irritation.  Potter's head snaps back up, and tentatively he begins to turn it around.  It continues to turn and turn until he's facing backward.  

**That's different,** Potter comments in surprise.  He still has small patches scattered across his back where the feathers are obviously thin, but nothing indecent, and certainly not enough to chill him.  Not that he could get chilled in this hothouse.  

He does indeed have golden tail feathers.  I suppress a painful moan as I realize even his Animagus form is Gryffindor colors.  _Could it get any more cliché?  _

"Try to fly, Harry," Dumbledore whispers intently, and my breath catches in my throat at the sentiment, even while my brain screams, _Are__ you mad?!    We're indoors, surrounded by magical flora that could just as easily *eat* Potter as aid him.  _

Potter, however, doesn't even hesitate, perhaps afraid the Headmaster will change his mind.   His arms *_wings* reach out beside him, and I realize he hasn't the faintest idea of the actual mechanics of flying._

**Potter…** I try to interject.  _Maybe we need to think about this.  Do we even have enough space to fly?_

Wings reach up and swoosh down, one beat, two beats, and Potter's feet leave the ground, his body surging upwards in bursts.  _He doesn't know how to fly.  Has he even read up on what Phoenixes can do?  Can he land?  _How did *I* get to be the practical one in this absurd little cadre of wizards?  But then…  Look who I'm with.  _Never mind.  Potter soars up quickly, and a feeling builds in his chest, something powerful.  I've never felt this from him before.  It's not any emotion I recognize.  _

Phoenix are larger birds, not prone to the anxious fluttering of smaller avian.  The wingspan alone could be easily compared to that of a Muggle swan, but longer, with hollow bones so light that allow even a gentle breeze to carry him long distances.  Potter's wings sweep up in large lazy arcs and whoosh downward, propelling him through the air effortlessly.  _He's in his element, I realize, _like watching a sea otter frolic in the ocean_.  Potter laughs.  I can feel it in his mind, but the sounds he makes instead are burbling warbles.  It's a birdsong of celebration.    _

He's a natural.  I can feel it as he orients himself.  *_Up*.  *__Forward*.  *__To the right*.  *_Down_*.  There is no fear at all as Potter properly acquaints himself with his new form, dodging branches and glass easily.  He soars at the highest peaks of the greenhouse, flying in slow, lazy circles.  Albus is but a distant dot peering up at him delightedly.  _

This flight is exhilarating, leaving me breathless.  _What is it he celebrates?  _I silence my own thoughts and let his emotions course through me.   I've never felt anything like it, and try to narrow it down to its' base components.  Abruptly, it hits me.  

*_Freedom.*  That's what he loves about this.  He doesn't miss the speed and thrill of sharp angles he can achieve on a broom, although he loves that, too.  At its core, it's the freedom to play in the air, to leave his cares behind and for a few precious moments *__be*.  No expectations, no duties, just the wind currents that gather underneath his wings and push him ever upward.  _

No longer The Boy Who Lived, or 'boy', or even Harry.  He's simply flying, and it draws his concentration so tight that everything else falls away.  Certainly it will return the moment he lands, but for a few precious moments…  He feels joy.  

I feel a faint fatigue begin to set in, knowing he's already exerted too much, and realize he's deliberately ignoring Albus who's trying to wave him back down.

**Potter.  Quit ignoring your headmaster,** I say strictly while suppressing my own amusement at the sight of Albus waving his arms dramatically to try to catch Harry's attention.  

**Ooops,** Potter says warmly, and I continue to watch Albus making a spectacle of himself.  After a few more circles, Potter sighs and lets himself glide below them, making small fluttering adjustments here and there with just the tips of his wings, navigating the thistle of foliage not yet tamed by Lupin effortlessly.  I brace myself for impact as he seems to be rushing towards the ground decidedly fast.  

Instead, at the last second he sweeps his wings two quick beats, stopping his descent and allowing himself to hover for a moment before setting his feet down without effort, as if stepping from a carriage.

**Perfect touch down,** Potter proclaims happily, and I swallow a couple of times to try to get moisture back in my mouth.  Ah, to be young and immortal.  

"Well done, Harry," Albus says delightedly as I return to my own mind.  Potter's face is flushed and he's grinning from ear to ear, breathless and slightly sweaty.  It's the healthiest I've seen him look in a long time.  

"That was marvelous, sir!" Harry proclaims and plops back in his nest of blankets.  He's certainly not chilled now. 

"I'll be curious to see if your Animagus form manifests the magical abilities of a phoenix as well," Albus says, eyes alight.  

My hands restlessly adjust my robes, a cover to disguise their twitchiness at a sudden realization.  

_Great Merlin.__  Could I have unlimited access to phoenix tears?  I have to count to ten several times to keep from leaping all over the possibilities.  __I mean, he's unhappy…  He's a phoenix.  What's not to like?  I squash a morbid part of me before it volunteers to make him cry, just to find the answer.  _You serve Light, Severus.  Breathe_…  _

"Will I have a Burning Day?" Potter asks as his coloring slowly returns to normal.  

"Eventually," Albus replies vaguely.  Potter sighs loudly.  I understand how he feels.  It is annoying as hell when Albus gets evasive.  We both know from experience, though, that inquiries will get him nowhere.  

"Do Black and Lupin know your Animagus form?" I ask curiously.  He smiles rather devilishly.  

"They asked what I was.  I described what I could see, but not what I was.  I'm going to surprise them," he says.  My eyebrows rise.  

"I can see how that would surprise them," I observe.  Albus is twirling a small segment of his beard thoughtfully.  

"Your phoenix form has green eyes," he observes.  

"That makes sense," Potter agrees.  Albus searches his face for a moment.  

"It also has a tiny gold lightening bolt scar," he says, tapping softly between his eyes.  Potter's hand automatically goes to his forehead in an exasperated slap.  He groans in frustration.  

"Of course," he says, disgusted.  He understands the point Albus is trying to make.  Once someone sees him as a phoenix, it's not going to take long to put two and two together.  

"I'm just letting you know to be discreet in who you choose to reveal this to," Albus says.  Potter nods.  

"I will," he promises.  Read: the entire Weasley clan, Granger, Lupin, Black, all the Hogwarts professors…  Most likely everyone *except* the Ministry.  The thought amuses me.

"So…  I'm sure your godfather is itching to find out what is taking us so long.  After all, you're expecting guests for dinner.  Shall we proceed?" Albus prompts, reaching out his hand.  Automatically, Potter places his in it.  Albus gestures me closer, and takes my hand as well.  

"It has been an honor to do this with the both of you," Albus formally says.  Harry blushes and smiles even as his eyes glance at me.  

"I owe you both a Wizard's Debt for what you've done, but more than that…  I owe you my sanity as well.  Thanks just doesn't nearly say what I mean…" Potter stumbles while struggling to express his gratitude.  _He's thanking *me*_.  I am appalled.  _And *who* between the three of us defeated the darkest wizard of my time?_

"Then don't try," I interrupt, uncomfortable.  

"We already know, Harry.  We already know," Albus murmurs warmly, giving Potter's hand a small squeeze, and begins chanting the words to break our bonds.  First Albus looks to me, and I nod consent, then turns to Potter.  He nods as well.  _Consent freely given and taken_.  

I'd forgotten the elegant power of the spell.  It begins to suffuse my senses, pulling threads apart from a tapestry of energy I hadn't realized had been created.  Instead of one magic, merged, separate and yet individual, now there were three.  They are smaller, somehow, and seem less impressive, although the sum of our magic is appropriately divided.  Potter's, of course, is larger than either Albus' or mine.  _By far.__  My my._

It's a strange feeling, as if fingers that had held themselves around my heart suddenly ease their grip.  What I can only describe as magical 'white noise' and tendrils of emotions not my own vanish from my mind in an instant, leaving my thoughts stark and clear.  Silent.  But instead of the relief I'd expected to feel, I'm oddly empty.  

I hadn't noticed anything different before, but I also feel… lighter, physically.  As if I could jump in the air and hover a bit… Like I have been carrying a weight on my shoulders for months that now is suddenly gone.  _That was all him?  _I wonder, surprised.  

Automatically, my eyes turn to Potter.  _He looks the same_.  His normal pallor has returned, and his eyes, although still bright and clear from the earlier flight, are also faintly sunken and shadowed.  He catches me looking at him and smiles softly. 

"It's all quiet now," he whispers, and I'm not sure if he even meant to say it aloud.  His expression is a bit wistful.  His words are appropriate, though, as we three all sit beside one another, together and yet alone.

Albus is the first to break the melancholy silence, slapping his thigh as if to signal the end of our meeting, and begins to stand.   Potter still appears a little disconcerted as he discretely helps Albus up, then gathers the blankets he'd been sitting on into a bundle to bring inside.  

The sun has dipped behind distant mountains, and the temperature is dropping quickly by the time we step outside.  In the twilight we travel quietly back to Potter's home, each lost to our own thoughts.  Black and Lupin are standing at the door.  Weasley and Granger are standing behind them.  _Were they here the entire time?  I didn't see them earlier.  Hmm.  I hope the others haven't arrived yet_.  They've all obviously been waiting for us.  A smile lights up Potter's face as we head back, and I'm disgustingly, sentimentally glad to see it.  

"I can't wait to show Sirius my Animagus form, Headmaster.  Thank you both for helping me…  I love that I don't have to wait to play Quidditch to fly," he says candidly, and oddly I realize that I know he'll be okay.  He may still have a long road to recovery, but Albus was right to end the binding spell now.   It is time.  

"It's my pleasure, Harry, but rest assured it's nothing *I* did.  I simply provided you with an opportunity…  The rest is all you.  After all, it's in your nature to fly," Albus says, even as Black and Lupin approach us.  

Granger eyes me strangely.  I think she of all Harry's friends is the most attuned to Potter's moods, and is trying to determine what brightened his spirits so considerably in such a short period of time.  Weasley watches me cautiously, stepping back quickly to stay out of my way.  _Smart boy.Potter's two friends gather around him, undoubtedly to grill him about what he's been doing for the last hour, but quickly get knocked aside by an enthusiastic Black.  _

His godfather scoops Harry up in his arms, blankets and dignity be damned, and I fight the urge to smile at the sight.  Lupin stands beside them both, laughing as Harry protests halfheartedly.  The former werewolf catches me watching him and nods once, whether to thank me or greet me, I'm not sure.  But I find I don't mind, either.  Albus rests his hand on my shoulder and pulls me away.  

"Let's go home," he says warmly.   _Indeed.  _

********************************************************************


	42. Ebb and Flow

**Disclaimer:  **Not mine, yadda yadda…****

**Author's Note:  **It's been an amazing ride, hasn't it?  It's been an honor and a privilege to share this story with you, to hear and learn from your input and truly realize just what being a writer is all about.  I've lived, breathed, and inhabited this story for well over a year now, and do not regret a moment of it.  I adore the HP world, and have gladly shared that obsession with like minded individuals as eager for a Harry Potter fix as I have been.  You've not only taught me to have confidence in my own writing, but to believe in my own 'voice' as well.  

I have to give thanks here to an amazing lady who has been my beta reader since nearly the beginning.  In fact, I had to revise the beginning because of her *g*.  After all, Remus Lupin wouldn't rescue *anybody* near a full moon *smacks palm to forehead*…  Nicky, you've been both the voice of reason and my biggest advocate for well over a year.  Thank you for all you've given.  I am honored to call you my friend.  

Wishweaver: Though you came late to the story, your suggestions have been both insightful and delightful.  It has been, and I hope will continue to be, the beginnings of a beautiful friendship *g*!

To all of you who have reviewed this story I give my deepest and most humble gratitude.  This is the first time I've ever shared a body of work with *anyone*...  In fact, this is the first time I've *finished* anything.  As the original revisionist queen, I'd rewrite myself into oblivion, become bored, and seek out yet another plot to grind into dust.  

*You*, dear reader, changed all that.  You made me want to push on, move forward, and most of all to finally complete my story.  You've given me confidence in my writing.  So I share this huge accomplishment with you.  Thank you.  For sharing a love in all things Harry Potter with me.  For reading and reviewing my story.  For following me on this amazing journey.  Hope this chapter finds you safe and happy.  _'Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!'_

_ _– __'Twas the Night Before Christmas _by Major Henry Livingston Jr._

**Epilogue 3**

Harry sat in the study, listening to the magical grandfather clock ticking loudly in the background, and watched his godfather pace.  _They're gone.  They're really gone_, he thought, feeling a bit off balance.  He hadn't realized how much he'd been aware of Snape and the Headmaster until he could no longer sense their presence within him.  Everything seemed a bit *colder* now.  _It's just going to take a while_, Harry decided resolutely, refusing to acknowledge the feeling of loss that welled up at the thought.  _ What's done is done…  He'd miss them, but on the bright side, he had his privacy back.  His thoughts and dreams were his alone. _

A log popped loudly in the fireplace, bringing him back to the present. Dobby had bustled around for several minutes, lighting the fire and draping a blanket on the arm of Harry's chair.  He also stayed long enough to make sure the table in the corner had enough tea and sweets to feed at least ten people before hurrying out again.  Harry shook his head slightly as he watched the dancing flames.  After so many years with the Dursleys, Dobby's absolute devotion was a little disconcerting.      

"All right?" Sirius asked with a concerned frown as he came over and knelt next to Harry.  He studied his godson for a second, then picked up the blanket Dobby had left and wrapped it snugly around the younger wizard's legs.  

Harry tried to jokingly wave a hand to shoo his godfather away, but Sirius was blithely ignoring him.  _He's fussing again, he thought with a faint smile and only the mildest exasperation.  _Honestly! Just because I was a little knackered after transforming…   __

Harry's heart warmed remembering the flight.  _It was perfect. He couldn't wait to fly again, and this time he'd be able to share the secret with his friends and family. _ And maybe they can help with some of the questions I can't seem to get out of my head.  Namely: Will I have Burning Days?  _The thought was less than appealing, even if Fawkes didn't seem permanently traumatized.  __Could I have already had one? Yet another lovely thought._

"Why is that prat coming here, anyway?" Sirius grumbled, even though he already knew the answer, interrupting Harry's shadowed thoughts.  He'd been none too pleased when Harry had announced that Percy would be arriving within the hour, stomping through the halls and loudly banging about until finally relenting long enough to help get Harry settled. 

"Because he asked to.  He wants to talk to me," Harry replied for the third time in as many minutes.  He was nervous about seeing Percy, although he couldn't quite understand why.  _On the other hand, if I'm nervous, think how Percy must feel, he consoled himself dryly, then snorted at the thought. _

"That was disturbingly Snape-like," Sirius observed, leaning back on his heels, hands on his hips, and glancing at the blanket critically to insure no area of Harry's legs were exposed.  Harry didn't have the heart to tell his godfather it would be too warm for him in only a matter of minutes.  Sirius had yet to learn that being chilled did not mean being hypothermic. 

"I certainly hope the snarky bastard hasn't rubbed off on you," Sirius continued, eyeing Harry with an appraising frown. There was no real venom in his voice, though.  More like old habits dying hard. 

Harry shrugged, then grinned.  "It's possible, I suppose," he retorted, feeling feisty.   "D'you reckon that means I might have rubbed off on him as well?"  Sirius' eyes widened in surprise as Harry laughed softly.  _Has it been that long since I've joked with him? _

"Yes, well…  Although I'm well aware you can take care of yourself, I don't want Percy keeping you trapped in here while he grovels," Sirius stated firmly, eyes flinty.  _Oh my_.  Harry's stomach clenched at the thought.  It hadn't occurred to him that it might be like that.  But considering how Percy had been behaving according to Ron, how else could it be?

Sirius seemed to sense Harry's unease and began to creatively explain just what he'd do to Percy if the berk dared to upset Harry in any way.  Despite his own anxiety, Harry couldn't help but shake his head in wonder as his godfather threatened things Harry suspected weren't physically or magically possible. 

"He's not like that.  He's actually very 'stiff-upper lip'," Harry replied, interrupting Sirius' diatribe yet again, as much to reassure himself as his godfather.  It didn't stop his heart from thumping heavily in his chest, though. 

A knock at the door made them both jump.  As Sirius turned, Harry caught sight of his godfather's wand peeking out from the cuff of his sleeve.  "Sirius!  Don't you dare hex him!"  Harry scolded with a surprised laugh.  Was it wrong to feel so much older than a man over twice his age?  Sirius tried to appear nonchalant as he tucked the wand back up his sleeve.

"Last chance for me to tell him to shove off," he said sincerely. 

"No.  We've got to talk, and this is as good a time as any," Harry replied, grateful to Sirius nonetheless.  This needed to be sorted out for the rest of the Weasley's sake as much as for Percy's own.

"Well then…  I'm just next door.  Raise your voice even a little, and he'll find himself lunch for one of Charlie Weasley's dragons," his godfather promised darkly.  Harry rolled his eyes. 

"I'm sure he can hear you," he whispered loudly in exasperation, resisting the urge to smack his forehead with his palm. 

"I should hope so.  Unless you think I should say it louder?" Sirius teased, raising his voice even more as he opened the door.  There stood Percy, pale and wide-eyed.  He immediately stepped back to allow Sirius to pass, stumbling a little as Sirius bumped him roughly with his shoulder as he left the room.  Harry shook his head with an embarrassed smile.  He adored Sirius, but seriously questioned his godfather's maturity much of the time.  

"Harry," Percy croaked in greeting as he entered the room.  The former Head Boy stood with his hand on the knob, his eyes darting from Harry to Sirius, unsure whether to close it or not.  Sirius now stood just on the other side of the threshold, staring at Percy dangerously and giving clear indication he wasn't going anywhere. 

"Go ahead and close it," Harry prompted, nodding reassuringly. _ Sirius, you're going to give him a heart attack! he thought, feeling a touch of pity as Percy tentatively closed the door in his godfather's face.  Harry was well aware of how frightening Sirius could seem, and that was when he wasn't even trying.  Percy's sigh of relief sounded loudly in the sudden stillness, and Harry noted wryly that Percy was leaning weakly against the door, already sweating._

That was all it took.  In a flash, Harry was back in the interrogation room.  Percy was bound against the wall--shocked, horrified, and trying to mouth reassurances that the Silencing Spell made pointless.  Harry closed his eyes for a moment and tried to calm his pounding heart.  He re-lived that awful moment, when all his dreams of telling the Minister the truth, and hopefully exonerating Sirius in the bargain, had been shattered by Fudge's own agenda.  His jaw clenched in remembered pain as he recalled how his mouth had been pried open before....   _No!  That was then. This is now.  Stop it! _

"I really appreciate you letting me come," Percy said, frowning as he seemed to notice some of Harry's discomfort.  "Are you alright?" he asked after a moment.  Harry nodded. 

"…fine.  M'fine," he replied.  Trying to cover his distress, Harry waved at the small loveseat in front of him.  "Please, have a seat."  Percy drew his shoulders back, trying to regain some of his own lost dignity, and crossed the room quickly.  His movements were fluttery, his gait gangly and yet somehow stiff.  Harry forced his eyes to follow Percy's every step, using the present as an anchor so he couldn't be pulled back into his memories, into that chair... _ I'm home.  I'm safe.  Is this ever going to stop?_

"Would you like me to get Professor Lupin?" Percy offered hesitantly as he sat, his face taut with concern.  Harry let the amusement of Percy specifically trying to exclude Sirius wash over him as he shook his head 'no'.  _He's just outside the door.  Good luck avoiding him.  You're lucky he isn't here already._

Harry watched as Percy unconsciously wiped his palms on his robes.  He perched on the edge of his seat in an almost birdlike way, pulling his robes away from his body as if to prevent wrinkles and shifting a couple of times until he finally settled.  Even then he wasn't completely still.  Percy's eyes roved restlessly over the contents of the study, taking in every detail.  Harry had chosen this room specifically for the meeting because of its coziness and warmth.  The wood paneling reminded him a lot of Hogwarts, and he'd hoped it would put Percy at ease as well. 

A sudden chill caused Harry to discretely burrow more deeply underneath his blanket.  _Sirius' instincts were right after all, he noted with wry amusement.  __How does he do it?  Sometimes Sirius seemed to know even before Harry did what he might need.  _Very odd_.  _

Harry regarded his guest with mild curiosity, trying to keep focused.  He had expected Percy to either launch into an exhaustive explanation of all he'd done to make amends, or else try to justify his actions.  That he hadn't was in itself a good start, but it also made Harry unsure how this conversation *was* going to proceed.  Harry wondered briefly why the other wizard was hesitating, then decided it didn't matter.  Percy could take all the time he liked if it insured he didn't say or do something emotional, as far as Harry was concerned. 

Sighing, Harry settled further into his chair, trying to get comfortable.  Truthfully, he was a lot more exhausted than he'd admitted to Sirius.  Not that his godfather hadn't figured it out anyway.  _It's so hard to keep things secret now, he reflected ruefully_. _His heart was still pounding and he was still shaking a little, __but at least I'm not practically hyperventilating anymore. That was some consolation_. __

They both sat quietly, looking everywhere but at each other.  Percy spent long minutes gathering his thoughts.  He even pulled a crumpled paper out of his robe at one point. When Harry realized it must have been notes on what Percy wanted to say, he'd very nearly laughed out loud.  _How very Percy._

He couldn't be sure if Percy was reluctant to begin, or if he had been made uncomfortable by Harry's reaction to seeing him.  Either way, the awkward pause gave Harry the opportunity to soothe his own frazzled nerves by recalling what Sirius would do if he gave the word.  _Help!  *heh*  Harry sighed again and glanced at the clock.  Only five minutes had passed.   ___

_He looks like he's ready to sprint for the door,_ Harry realized.  _And I'm sure my anxiety attack didn't help matters.  _It was oddly satisfying to see the normally poised and dignified former Head Boy in such a state.  Was it wrong to feel better at someone else's expense?  Harry knew what Snape would reply, and his lip curled slightly at the thought.  

The silence stretching between them allowed Harry's mind to readjust to seeing Percy again.  _You look so much like your brother.  How can you be so completely different?  _

Percy tried to act so much older than Ron, but he wasn't.  Not really.  In fact, Harry had often thought that Percy's disapproving expression only made him look younger -- as if he were trying to play at being an adult when he really wasn't one yet.  To Harry, it always seemed as if Percy had never learned that sometimes it was okay to slouch, or that raucous jokes could be good for the soul. 

_This is going to take forever. _Harry nearly smiled at his own snarky observation, oddly comforted by the thought that he might be channeling Snape just a little bit. _I guess that means that even if this conversation ends badly, at least it will be creatively said. _

As he discretely watched Percy, Harry abruptly realized what had triggered the memory.  This was literally the first time he'd seen Percy since the interrogation!  Of course he was reacting badly!  _And when he leaned against the door like that…  Harry shuddered.  _That was not good.  Not good at all. __

Understanding the source of his forced visions helped, but it was a disappointment for Harry to realize how unsuccessful he still was at stemming his flashbacks.  He'd tried to brace himself for this conversation; for seeing Percy again, but it obviously hadn't helped.  _Why did it still happen?  _Harry wondered.  _Perhaps it's because he looks just the same, but I feel so differently now.  I know not that much time has passed; it isn't even winter yet, but it feels so much longer…_

Even searching for the source of his flashback was causing his anxiety to begin to build once more, so Harry quickly let the memory fade.  _I survived, he survived... _he reminded himself, repeating the litany of reasons as to why he was safe over and over until finally his pulse began to normalize.  _There.  That's better.  No chairs, Harry.  You're okay.   _

Truthfully, Harry was feeling better, now that his initial shock at seeing Percy had passed.  Turning his head to stare at Ron's older brother directly, he regarded him with amused exasperation.  He'd intended to let Percy make the first move, but now he was wondering about the wisdom of that choice. _ At the rate we're going we'll be here all night, he reflected wryly.  _Might as well get this beastly thing started_.  ___

"Tea?" Harry offered finally, nearly startling Percy off the chair, and had to suppress a nervous snort. 

"No, thank you," Percy replied, his voice slightly higher than normal. 

"We have wonderful scones and biscuits as well, if you're hungry," Harry said, feeling more and more amused as he gestured with a fairly steady hand towards the table Dobby kept filled in the corner of the room.  _Too bad I don't have lemon drops to offer_.

 "I…" Percy began, then shook his head.  "I…" Percy tried again, then coughed uncomfortably.  He still looked everywhere but at Harry.  "I can't begin to express how sorry I am for what I've done to you, Harry," Percy finally blurted.  He lifted his eyes for just a moment before dropping them again, but that brief glimpse revealed a depth of remorse Harry hadn't expected to see. 

"I know you didn't mean me any harm," Harry said gently. _ Finally, here we go.  Percy shook his head. _

"It doesn't matter.  Look what I've done to you," he said, gesturing at Harry. 

_What?  _Harry looked down at himself, trying to determine what Percy was referring to.  What little wasn't buried under Sirius' blankets, anyway.

"You are so pale and thin…  I can tell you don't sleep well.  I handed you over to *them*," Percy explained, his voice thickening with self-loathing.  "I almost killed you."  Harry frowned and his eye twitched.  _That's not a good sign, is it? _he thought with faint amusement.  Now that the conversation had finally begun, he found himself strangely calm.  _How odd. _

"You didn't, Percy," Harry disagreed.

"I did," Percy interrupted frantically, his voice raising slightly.  At Harry's alarmed look, Percy automatically glanced behind him at the door.  _Trust me, you don't want Sirius bursting in here, Harry thought but dared not say aloud.  The former Head Boy was strung out enough as it was.  Percy seemed to understand Harry's expression and deflated a little._

"The Ministry would have come whether you had said anything or not," Harry said gently.  Percy shook his head.

"I was a fool.  I tried to make you confide in me." 

"Yes, that was a bit appalling," Harry agreed dryly.  Percy responded with a wry twist of his mouth.

"You knew more than you were telling.  Any fool could see that," he declared, his voice sharpening just a bit.  For the briefest second Harry wondered if the redhead was preparing to lay blame, but when the other wizard continued, his voice was soft and remorseful again.  "I hadn't realized you'd already tried to tell the Minister what was really happening,"  Percy said, his lips thin and eyes unfocused.  "I hadn't realized I wasn't the only one who didn't want to know the truth."

"Ignorance is bliss…until the Dark Mark hovers above your home," Harry said without thinking.  While he blamed Fudge directly for the appalling cover-up that had occurred, a part of him also wanted Percy to realize that his complicity affected more than just Harry.  Percy paled and Harry realized his words were rather harsh.  _Oops.  Snape truly must be rubbing off on him._

"You're not saying…?" Percy practically begged. 

"Of course I'm not," Harry reassured quickly, reaching his hand out to try to comfort Percy and pulling it back just as quickly when his companion flinched involuntarily.  "That burden rests squarely on Fudge's shoulders… and Voldemort's, of course," Harry added, suppressing an annoyed sigh as Percy paled at the name. 

"Don't go taking it on yourself.  You're not the only one who really didn't want to know," Harry tried again.

"I watched you a lot in school.  Did you know that?" Percy asked abruptly. 

"No, I didn't," Harry responded, surprised by the sudden turn in the conversation.

"I watched you there.  You were so reckless.  You had no respect for the rules.  I knew you weren't spoiled, but your actions…  For someone who's such a magnet for trouble, I would have expected you to be more cautious," Percy nearly scolded.   

"Rules?  That's the difference between us, Percy," Harry said, amused and frustrated at the same time.  He was tired of hearing the excuse as to why no one trusted him and, to his surprise, found himself explaining in far more detail than he ever had as to *why* he was such a 'rule breaker'. 

"The rules I grew up with made no sense.  '_Don't talk to anyone,'" Harry did a fair imitation of Aunt Petunia's voice, "'_No meals for you for a week_.'  '__Don't do anything freakish,'" Harry shook his head ruefully, annoyed as much at himself as Percy.  Was he, too, justifying his actions? _

"I couldn't *not eat* for a week," he continued, "And sorry, but why couldn't I talk to anyone when everyone else could?  I learned early on that "rules" weren't necessarily fair and often made no sense.  The really important lessons, like not putting my hand on a hot stovetop, I had to learn for myself.  So when someone tells me what and what not to do…  I decide for myself whether it's right or not," Harry shrugged. 

"Yes, but by doing so you've endangered yourself and others," Percy countered, making Harry wince at the truth of it.  "…Of course, you've also helped others as well," he continued with a heavy sigh, and as the statement lay between them like an open sore, suddenly Harry knew…  The driving force behind Percy's actions over the summer was Ginny!  His intervention, meddling, and uncharacteristic rush to judgment suddenly made more sense .

"Do you blame me…?" Harry asked thickly.  It was something he had never even dared to ask Ron.  He tried not to think about it; to explain and rationalize it away… But in the dark of night the question refused to be avoided:  Would *Ginny* in particular have been given Tom Riddle's diary if Harry hadn't been with the Weasleys that day they'd encountered Lucius Malfoy in Diagon Alley? 

"Merlin, no!" Percy exclaimed, horrified, and lunged forward onto his knees in front of Harry's chair, making eye contact at last.  There could be no doubt as to his sincerity.  Percy took Harry's hands in his own, and he was surprised to see how much bigger Percy's were in comparison. 

"Don't even think that!" Percy said, gripping Harry's hands firmly.  "Absolutely not!  Dad's hated Lucius Malfoy for as long as I can remember, and I know for a fact that the feeling's mutual.  There aren't many people dad routinely tries to clock," Percy implored, trying to lighten the conversation.  Harry concentrated on keeping his hands from trembling.  While grateful Percy didn't believe that, he still feared the true answer to his question.  _But now you'll never know, will you? _the little voice in his head taunted nastily.  _The only man who knew for sure is dead._

"Then what *are* you trying to say?" Harry asked, refusing to dwell on his own thoughts.  Percy hadn't believed that…  So, why?  Percy closed his eyes and grimaced for a moment before opening them again. 

"It means I saw Ginny acting strange and never did anything.  It means I should have been looking out for her…  I should have seen the signs.  If I would have confronted her…  If I had done *something*," Percy said in frustration as he pulled back, retreating to his seat.  Harry discretely flexed his fingers to get the blood flowing again.  Percy's grip had been a bit strong.

"I promised myself that I'd pay more attention next time.  I'd ask questions and confront people.  I'd do it even if it made me unpopular, because *someone* should have…"  Percy cut his sentence short and tried to smile apologetically at Harry.  It looked more like a grimace. 

"But you didn't like the answers, did you?" Harry prompted softly, and Percy ran both his hands roughly through his hair, laughing bitterly. 

"There is that, isn't there?"

"So don't do it again," Harry said lightly after an uncomfortable pause.

"Bollocks it all!" Percy exclaimed in raw frustration.  Harry had never, ever heard Percy swear before.  He forced himself not to laugh as he realized how clearly Percy articulated, even when he cursed.  Rustling outside the study door made Harry nearly leap up anxiously, displacing the carefully placed blanket.

"Don't even think about it, Sirius!" he yelled quickly.  The resulting muffled grumbles from the other side of the door told him his instincts had been right and his godfather had been about to barge in.  "Sorry.  Please, do go on," Harry prompted politely, trying not to laugh at the way Percy's eyes widened when he thought Sirius was about to rush the door. 

After a moment of stunned silence, Percy shook his head and broke into a genuine laugh.  Harry smiled in response, not quite sure what was funny… Or perhaps, what wasn't.  He felt more and more like Dumbledore every day, whose proffered lemon drops during stressful moments now appeared as much a nod to the absurd as a genuine polite formality. 

With a start, Harry realized he'd never heard Percy laugh before.  It was an odd, high pitched wheezing sound that appeared to take a great deal of effort to do, as his shoulders and chest shuddered with each whistling breath.  Percy's laughter was so eccentrically genuine that Harry couldn't help but join in even though he was unsure what had tickled Percy's fancy so.  Soon tears trickled down Percy's face and he held his cheeks with his palms, and Harry couldn't help it as he laughed with him.  Percy was fun to watch. 

"Oh!  Stop!  My cheeks are cramping!" he exclaimed which cracked Harry up all over again.  It was so strange to see Percy like this, so completely uninhibited.  _Maybe that's why he never laughs.  It took a few minutes before Percy was finally able to calm down, but when he looked up, Harry realized that all the tension that had been in his face and eyes was gone.   Percy smiled ruefully. _

"So much for dignity and decorum," he said hoarsely.  Harry rolled his eyes.

"Highly overrated," he disagreed. 

"You weren't supposed to be like this," Percy said thoughtfully, frowning in puzzlement. 

 "What was I supposed to be like?" Harry asked curiously.  All he'd wanted was there to be the possibility of reconciliation within the Weasley clan.  He hated seeing Ron's family so divided, and felt even worse that he had been the origin of it.

"You were supposed to accuse me of trying to kill you.  Blame me for what I'd done.  Hate me forever, turn me out of your life…  I don't know," Percy shrugged, clearly feeling a bit embarrassed by his admission.  It was odd to feel a connection to Percy now, after so much had happened.  Harry did, after all, have a reason to dislike him.  But when it all was said and done… 

"I'll let you in on a little secret," Harry said, leaning in conspiratorially.  Percy quirked his head to the side curiously, once again giving him a strong sense of how birdlike Percy's gestures were.  _If you were an Animagus, Percy, what would you be? _

"What?" Percy asked, intrigued. 

"I've had worse happen," Harry stated simply.  Percy paled, causing Harry to shake his head firmly, trying to keep him from internalizing any further.  "You did the wrong thing for the right reasons.  Your heart was in the right place, Percy, even if it was at my expense.  As the injured party I think it's fair to say that I should be the one to decide when it's time to move on.  You've been honoring your promise, right?"

"Yes…" Percy nodded quickly and looked as if he were about to launch into a detailed explanation of all he'd done.  Harry interrupted quickly, before he could get started.

"You're thinking for yourself, making your own decisions on what you see.  That's all I can ask.  Now, are you hungry?  I'm starved, and if I'm not mistaken, my eavesdropping godfather missed afternoon tea as well.  Would you like to stay for dinner?" 

******************************************************************************************************

Sirius' eye twitched as he watched Percy Weasley head towards him.  _Smart boy_, leaving instead of staying for dinner.  He'd nearly dropped his teeth when Harry had suggested it.  On the other hand, Percy's presence might have had certain...benefits.  In the prank wars he, Remus and the twins were currently embroiled in, some jokes were considered too harsh and had been set aside.  Sirius grinned evilly.  They would have been lovely to use against Percy.  _Ah, well... _

Shrugging regretfully, Sirius poked his head in the study and immediately noticed how pale Harry looked.  He'd scrunched further under the blanket and was clearly bracing himself to get up and follow Percy into the living room.  _Damn Dumbledore anyway for ending the Portus Animus spell today.  This better not hurt Harry's recovery…_

"Dinner won't be for a few minutes yet, so why don't you stay there and rest a bit?" Sirius suggested, trying to mask his concern with casualness.  Harry smiled gratefully as Sirius increased the blanket's heating charm and raised a hand briefly.  Sirius was puzzled but still about to wave back when he realized Harry was waving to the annoying prat still loitering in the hall behind him.

Sirius knew his face showed something just shy of open hostility as he turned to face Percy and nodded towards the living room, effectively showing him the door.  He could remember all too clearly how the pompous little toe rag had cornered Harry in the Burrow's backyard and asked questions too painful for his godson to answer. 

_Harry might have forgiven you, but I never will -- although you did make him laugh.  I'll give you that_, Sirius admitted, relenting and smiling just the tiniest bit at the memory.  Harry had a great laugh; soft and gentle with just a timbre of surprise, as if it was something he never expected to be able to do again.  It was a sound Sirius intended to hear a great deal more of.

The Molly Weasley sanctioned prank wars went a long way towards that, as did Remus and Sirius' ongoing antics.  If Harry noticed that each fell for the other's tricks a bit too often or appeared too gullible, he did not say.  The awkwardness of an aardvark snout or burping baby chicks was well worth it to both of them on the off chance observant green eyes might be watching. 

Sirius had spent many a day trying to maintain normal conversations with flippers just so he could watch Harry struggle to keep a straight face.  The gills, though, carried it a bit too far.  After all, how was he supposed to talk with a fishbowl magicked around his head?  

"May I talk to you for a moment, Mr. Black?" Percy asked they both headed towards the fireplace.  Sirius nodded, then abruptly realized Remus was nowhere to be seen.  That was surprising, considering Remus had insisted on remaining nearby while the two boys were talking in the study.  Evidently he'd decided the danger had passed.  Sirius suppressed a smile, and mentally rubbed his hands together.  _One misstep and you're mine, Percy Weasley._

"This is for Harry from Shirley, Lane, and myself," Percy said as they stood next to the mantle.  He reached for Sirius' hand and curled his fingers around a small metal seal.  The former Head Boy was lucky Sirius hadn't hexed him the moment he grabbed his fist.  "I didn't want to upset him.  I'll let you decide when, or even if, he should have it." 

"What is it?" Sirius asked, staring at the seal dumbly. 

"Cornelius Fudge's official signet ring, used to affix his endorsement on all Ministry documents that have ever traveled through his office," Percy replied. __

"Ummm…" was all Sirius could say while a million questions danced in his head. _ What's Harry supposed to do with this?  Is this some sort of trick?   Who are Shirley and Lane, and why the bloody hell are they giving Harry signets?_

Suspicion must have shown on his face, because Percy spoke almost urgently, as if trying to will Sirius to believe him. 

"Lane was the court reporter in the room with me when they interrogated Harry.  Shirley is Anne's aunt," Percy explained, and automatically Sirius' eyes traveled to a small potted tree beside the fireplace where the bizarre, mutant lizard often perched. 

_Hmm.  Where's he gone off to now?_  Sirius wondered absently then smiled to himself as he visualized the little girl who'd given the odd pet to Harry bounding up with the scrunched lizard in her arms.  _Exhausting girl, Anne_.  Harry often slept soundly for a couple of hours after visits from her.

"And they got a hold of this how?" Sirius asked, pulling him back to the present and trying to follow Percy's logic.

"Shirley was Cornelius Fudge's private secretary," Percy said.  _Oh.  Okay.  That explains that. _

"So what is Harry supposed to do with this?" Sirius asked a touch bitterly, rolling the signet in the palm of his hand.  _My freedom.  Harry's pardon.  I could have done so much with this before... _

"It means he's got more than just my Wizard's Promise to do right by him.  More than just Shirley's and Lane's, too," Percy said and shrugged.  "It's not much, but it's a start.  It means Fudge can't hurt him anymore."

"Will this help Harry when all those suits filed by families of Azkaban prisoners affected by Harry's spell come to trial?"  Sirius asked, and felt his lips curl into a snarl, his temper finally snapping.  _Too little, too late, boy.  Whatever foolish gestures you've intended, you're also putting evidence into our hands.  Percy looked stricken. _

"No!" he objected loudly then lowered his voice anxiously as he realized the door to the study was still open.  "You know there's no way Dumbledore will let…" Percy began, but Sirius cut him off.

"Dumbledore's got a funny way of protecting Harry sometimes," Sirius stated flatly, noting that Remus was quickly walking across the room towards them, with Ron and Hermione following a little further behind. _ Ah.  There you are.  Bit late, old boy, but as you can see, I was good.  The prat's still in one piece..._

"I've hurt him, Mr. Black, which is inexcusable.  You have my promise it won't happen again," Percy said thickly.  Sirius placed the signet back in Percy's hand. 

"Harry's got enough to remember Fudge by.  He doesn't need anything more," Sirius said.  Percy nodded, swallowing convulsively.

"I understand.  Thank you for letting me talk to him," Percy said, his voice raw. He turned toward the fireplace, preparing to leave, but was prevented from doing so when the rest of the Weasleys decided to arrive.  

It was interesting to watch each of their reactions as they registered Percy's presence.  Sirius noted the anger and bitterness on Fred's face, but he could also see George's disapproving expression as he clutched Fred's arm and leaned forward to whisper something in his ear.  Fred shook his head, but didn't fight out of George's grasp, making Harry's godfather smirk knowingly.  _He'll wear you down, Fred_, Sirius thought as he watched the twins, and wondered what the bloody hell Percy had been thinking about when he'd tried to give him the signet. 

Arthur nodded a greeting to his son, who discretely nodded back; the unspoken question asked and answered.  _How did it go?  It went well.  Molly smiled softly, noticing the interaction. _

"Are you going to stay for dinner?" she asked.  Percy shook his head, making brief mention of some prior obligation.  They all knew the lie for what it really was.   Although the talk with Harry had gone far better than the gormless prat deserved, the third Weasley son's troubles weren't over.  Family rifts still needed to be patched -- if they could be -- and his apologies were far from done.  

Bill and Charlie shouldered past Percy with barely a nod as they, too stepped out of the Floo, and for just the briefest moment, Sirius *almost* pitied the boy.  With his shoulders hunched dejectedly and arms wrapped tightly around his middle, Percy looked lost as he watched the rest of the Weasley family joke amongst themselves.   He stood there several beats, ignored, until at last Arthur noticed he was still there and smiled encouragingly.  Percy flashed a small smile gratefully in response, and Sirius was stunned to realize the fool didn't want to leave! 

Indignation almost choked him.  _Your own actions brought you to this.  You have no idea what Harry would have given to have what you so thoughtlessly threw away.  Percy must have sensed some of Sirius thoughts because he nodded to both he and Remus once more before disappearing into the fire._

"What was that about?" Remus asked as he sidled up next to Sirius.  Sirius shrugged.  The less said the better.  Besides, Remus would interrogate him later anyway.  

"Where did you get to?" Sirius asked curiously as he took a closer look at his friend.  Remus' hair was disheveled and several twigs had attached themselves to his robes.  He was actually looking quite put upon.  Remus' eyebrow raised in annoyance. 

"I found Harry's pet eating my plants," Remus said with faint indignation.

"You're joking," Sirius coughed, his eyes wide.  _How on earth did Herbert end up out there?_

"Did you know both Poppy and Severus have asked for a few seedlings?  I've got some remarkable heirloom varieties you just can't find everyday," Remus said almost peevishly, and Sirius did laugh as his friend glared at the chameleon Ron was reattaching to his normal perch. 

"Did you know you can't Accio chameleons?   They must have too good a grip," Hermione offered, clearly intrigued.  Sirius shook his head fondly. _ Always the scholar...  _He was also amused to note that Ron actually looked even the worse for wear than Remus did.  He had several dirt smudges on his face and grass stains on his robes.

"The little bugger's quite fast, when he's of a mind to be," Ron said, glaring at Herbert.  The chameleon's eyes were darting everywhere, taking in the additional houseguests. 

"Ron!" Molly scolded, causing Ron to jump. 

"Sorry, mum," he said automatically (but not apologetically) then looked to Sirius.  "Is Harry still in the study?"  Sirius nodded. 

"He is?  I'll just go check on him," Molly said and immediately left with Ron and Hermione.  Since the night Harry had been rescued from the Dursleys, when she'd taken care of him before Pomfrey arrived, Molly had become as much Harry's caretaker as Poppy was.  She took it upon herself to monitor his potions carefully and insured no one overtaxed him.  Sirius grimaced as he watched the trio head for the study.  _She'll love how he looks tonight. _

Now that the last of the Weasleys had officially descended upon the Villa, as Dumbledore had taken to calling the place, Sirius wanted to get dinner going.  _The Villa.  Sirius shook his head with an exasperated sigh.  He'd tried to get Harry to christen their new home, but after his godson's latest attempt of 'Dogsmeade', which Sirius suspected was as much his refusal to name it as any sincere attempt, both he and Remus had let the matter drop._

"Pass the word that tonight's a short night.  Harry's pretty tired," Sirius murmured to Remus. 

"Should we cancel?" Remus asked, concerned.  Sirius raised an ironic eyebrow.  _So do you want to be the one to tell Harry?  "Never mind," Remus answered his own question with a wry grin.  They'd both found it was better with any visit to simply let Harry fall asleep first, then have everyone leave.  Sirius shook his head bemusedly.  Harry didn't seem to mind nodding off in front of company,  but if he felt he'd caused anyone to have to change plans, he'd apologize for days.  __Perhaps because he knows how much enjoyment we get out of the Weasleys as well, Sirius realized.  Harry was entirely too insightful at times._

Molly had brought quite a few dinner trays with her, much to Dobby's dismay.  At the moment the house-elf was anxiously incorporating her platters with his own on the banquet table he'd laid out.  On more than one occasion Sirius had heard the house-elf and the Weasley matron in earnest discussion about exactly what Harry's favorite dishes were, and he was quite sure he'd heard them swapping magical cooking tips as well. 

"Sirius Black, he looks exhausted!" Molly scolded fiercely, causing Sirius to jump.  He hadn't even heard her coming.  "He should be in bed!" she continued, tapping her foot impatiently, and glared at him as if it were all _his fault.  _Why don't you scold Remus, too?  He lives here as well.  Besides, he's the former professor...__

"Tsk, tsk, Sirius," Remus teased.  Sirius glared at the former werewolf, then addressed the anxious witch. 

"I agree, Molly.  But who here wants to tell Harry we're canceling dinner when we all *know* it's the first time he's seen everyone together since last year?" Sirius asked facetiously.  Molly's eyes darted to her elder sons then back down the hall towards the study where Harry, Ron and Hermione presently were. 

"He's trying to make everything back to the way it used to be," Remus said softly.  Molly looked heartbroken. 

"But that isn't possible," she said sadly. 

"We know," Sirius said simply.  "But we can help him try." 

Molly looked undecided for a minute, then sighed in defeat.  "Right, then.  Let's eat," she declared,  rounding everyone up in short order.

Dinner consisted of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, peas, potatoes, gravy, carrots, Shepherds Pie, Cornish pasties, with custard and Treacle pudding for dessert.   Sirius amused himself watching Harry's plate magically replenish itself each time he looked elsewhere.  So far his godson hadn't noticed, but a few suspicious glances Sirius' way indicated Harry would figure it out soon enough. 

_Whatever Harry did out in the nursery with Snape and Dumbledore certainly whetted his appetite_,  Sirius thought, watching approvingly.  Remus noticed as well, nudging Sirius as Harry continued to nibble.  Sirius acknowledged the gesture with a wink, then turned back to Harry again.  His godson was currently staring wide-eyed at Charlie Weasley, who was nodding his head vigorously.

"You're joking.  Your mum's letting the dragon stay in your backyard?" Harry asked.  The twins grinned broadly. 

"No more de-gnoming for us," Fred said.

"Why not?" Harry wanted to know.  

"They moved.  Refused to share a garden with a dragon," Charlie said with a shrug, as if baffled by the very notion.  "Who can understand gnomes?"

"Mum's been making us clean the attic whenever  she wants to punish us," George added. 

"The ghoul's furious," Fred agreed, smiling wickedly. 

"We'll probably have to come to your place this Christmas to practice Quidditch," Ron said.  

"Oh?" Harry asked, blinking bewilderedly.  He was having a hard time keeping up, tired as he was.  

"Well, it's not like we can fly around with a dragon in our backyard," Ginny supplied. 

_Hmm.  Good point_, Harry agreed silently, grinning.  "No, that wouldn't do at all, would it?" he asked aloud. 

"Poor thing.  It's not like he can chase after you," Charlie defended. 

"He's still got a rather long reach, though, doesn't he?" Ron said and stared hard at Charlie's forearm, which was currently bandaged.  Charlie quickly removed it from the table and out of everyone's sight.  "Yes, well, that was my own fault…" he mumbled. 

"I talked with Professor McGonagall today about Crookshanks," Hermione interrupted before Ron could say anything more.  Evidently this argument had been going on a while. 

"Really?  What did she say?" Ginny asked between mouthfuls of food. 

"Ginny.  Don't talk with your mouth full," Molly scolded absently. 

"Sorry mum," Ginny replied, rolling her eyes discretely. 

"She said '_Never try to ask a Kneazle anything unless you've brought tuna._' Honestly!"  Hermione replied, clearly irritated. Sirius hid a snort behind his hand when she turned to glare at him.  Hermione had gone to see McGonagall on his recommendation.  The inquisitive witch was making it her personal crusade to try to figure out why Crookshanks had chased Peter down after Harry had been arrested.  She was annoyed at Sirius' lack of forthrightness about the whole incident, but he had insisted that Minerva was much better qualified than he to give her answers. 

He flashed Hermione his most disarming smile, elbowing Remus sharply when the former werewolf discretely mentioned how closely Sirius resembled Gilderoy Lockhart.Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the two Marauders' byplay.  _That's my story and I'm sticking to it.  Minerva can help you in ways I cannot, Hermione.  After all, *I* am a male Animagus canine.  She, being both a female *and* a feline, will be able to fathom any answers your mysterious pet should deign to provide far better than I ever could_, Sirius thought but dared not say aloud.  Not with three ladies at the table.

"Dobby!" Harry scolded, startling Sirius.  Remus laughed aloud. 

"You've been busted, Dobby," Sirius said and winked at the house-elf who'd been caught adding more pudding to Harry's plate.  The house-elf looked entirely too self-satisfied, not even bothering with apologies as he continued to magically dish out more food.  Harry pushed his plate away and shook his head. 

"If I eat any more, I'll explode," he said, glancing around.  Ron and Hermione automatically stood up, and Molly took this as her cue to keep the evening moving along.  

"Perhaps we should retire to the library for a bit?" she suggested, knowing full well that Harry often dozed in a small chair by the fireplace there. 

It didn't take long for everyone to settle.  Arthur sat with his two eldest sons in a corner of the room.  Charlie was talking animatedly to the other two, telling a story with a good deal of detail and hand-waving.  Sirius couldn't quite make out what Charlie was saying, but if Bill's ironic expression was any indicator, Arthur and Molly's second son was talking about dragons.  Again.  Sirius shook his head and snorted softly.  _Like he ever talks about anything else...  _

The twins and Ginny were heckling Ron about losing to Harry at chess.  While it had only been a couple of games thus far, Sirius had caught his godson's expression several times in the past couple of weeks.  He'd play brilliantly, then abruptly make several clumsy moves that would ultimately lose him the game.  Sirius suspected he was doing it deliberately but hadn't puzzled out why yet.

Remus settled beside Sirius with a teacup in hand and sighed.  His eyes followed Sirius'. 

"How do you think he's doing?" Sirius asked Remus.  They both had been watching Harry closely all night, trying to gauge how he was doing now that his recovery was no longer supplemented by the Portus Animus spell. 

"Good, actually.  He's exhausted, but it's a physical kind.  I think he might even sleep well tonight," Remus replied.  Sirius turned to stare at his friend, stunned. 

"Really?"

"Maybe.  I'm feeling optimistic today," Remus replied with a gentle smile.  Sirius snorted. 

 "Only because it's a full moon tonight," he joked without thinking.  Remus' smile faltered just a little and Sirius cringed at his own insensitivity.  _Tact, Black, tact!  Learn to use it!  _he scolded himself.   

Remus noticed his friend's discomfort, and quickly let him off the hook.  "And to think I'd forgotten," he quipped, nudging Sirius' shoulder with his own to show that there were no hard feelings.  Sirius let out a small breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.  _Thank Merlin I didn't blow that one.  After all, it had been Harry who had had to explain things to him:_

_"Sirius, he is glad to be cured, but feels it was at my expense.  And truthfully, I think he feels badly in a way, being cured when no one else can be…" _

Harry had trailed off, his expression thoughtful, which had immediately put Sirius on his guard.  While his godson was still an enigma in many ways, Sirius had begun to recognize when an idea was germinating.  Once Harry got a notion he might be able to help someone… Sirius forced himself not to shudder. 

It was a discussion he knew he would need Remus' help with, Sirius reflected wryly.  Harry generally responded far better to calm logic better than to ultimatums and impassioned pleas.  However, that conversation could wait for another day.  He didn't want to spoil the pleasant mood, and Harry wasn't likely to run off on any idealistic crusades tonight.    

He and Remus stood for a while watching the Weasleys in action.  It was heartwarming to see how Ron and Hermione would naturally team up, instinctively reacting to how Harry was doing by either encouraging the twin's antics or trying to distract them.  It reminded Sirius painfully of his Marauder days and of the friendships that went beyond words. 

"I see it, too.  That's what you're thinking, isn't it?" Remus asked softly.  "They're so close."  Sirius nodded, blinking back unbidden tears. 

He hated being like this: so emotional.  Things just came up on him by surprise.  Memories…  The simple smell of a rose was currently overwhelming at the moment.  Dobby had been hurt when Remus insisted he ease up on how many fresh bouquets he placed in each room.  How do you explain to a house-elf that an Azkaban escapee can't bear them because they remind him so strongly of James and Lily's wedding that he can barely breathe?  And how on earth was he going to continue to keep it together enough to be there for Harry?  It terrified him daily...  That he might fail his godson. 

"Watch what he does," Sirius said, as much to distract himself as Remus.  His friend knew Sirius entirely too well, which undoubtedly was why he was currently glued to his side. 

"What?" Remus asked. 

"That," Sirius said, directing Remus' attention with his eyes.  Now that he knew what to look for, it was so easy to see.  Harry would be fine, gently laughing or talking, then a shadow would cross his face.  Ever so discretely, he'd ease himself out of the conversation, and slip back into the shadows.  That was what he'd wanted Remus to see -- what Harry was doing right now.  His godson was currently nestled in the folds of his chair; an observer, not a participant.  Remus sighed and rested a hand on Sirius' shoulder soothingly. 

"I've seen it.  He withdraws…  But watch how they react," Remus murmured, shaking Sirius gently before his thoughts became too maudlin. 

Instinctively both Ron and Hermione pounced on Harry, pulling him forward, back into the circle of friends.  Fred joked loudly about a rematch against the Marauders - they had a food prank cease-fire going for Molly's peace of mind (tonight only)- and rattled his pockets significantly.  Ron demanded a rematch at chess, and Hermione whispered something in Harry's ear that made him laugh.  Ginny was playing Exploding Snap with George, who was cheating blatantly with a deck Sirius realized was one of their 'prototypes', slipping all the exploding cards into Ginny's hand. 

"I can't imagine how James felt, being a father," Sirius mused softly.  Remus stilled, his hand slipping from Sirius' shoulder.  "He was so young." 

"Well, he rushed headlong into it, like he did everything else.  Much like some others who shall remain nameless," Remus replied gently. 

"I'm terrified I won't do right by him," Sirius admitted, his throat tight with grief and fear.  He loved Harry *so* much…  He couldn't bear it if he hurt him. 

"Sirius, I never thought I'd see the day you could over-analyze something.  Harry loves you.  He depends on you.  None of the rest of us can even dream of trying to help him cope with the memory of Azkaban.  You're going to screw up at some point or another.  I guarantee it.  So am I.  But look at them.  He pulls away, and we all take turns bringing him back.  He doesn't know how *not* to be alone, but we're teaching him," Remus said, his voice soothing. 

"No.  None of us have to be alone anymore," Sirius replied, feeling laughter bubble up in his throat.  Hope.  What a ridiculously simple word for something so overwhelmingly perfect.  They'd heal each other.  That's what Remus was trying to say.  Looking at Harry now, Sirius dared to believe it.  _You have a future, now, Harry.  And you're my future.  Merlin help us all.  _And then Sirius did laugh, heartily, causing Harry to smile and the twins to grin evilly.  The fact that Molly paled a bit only made him laugh harder.  _I'll do alright.  And so will you, Harry.  I swear it._

**Finite Incantatem (aka The End) *g***


End file.
